


Just Off The Key Of Reason

by penceyprat



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, College, Comic Book Store, Gerard Is So Shit At Admitting His Feelings For Frank, M/M, Mikey Is Shy And Just Wants To Pass English, Mikey Just Spends This Whole Fic Being Pissed Off, Oral Sex, Pete Is A Flirty Piece Of Shit, Pyromania, Sad Ending, Sweet Little Dudes, There's Also This Bit About Ryan Ross And Scarf Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 123,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm Mikey Way, the grand twenty year old virgin and general klutz when it came to anything vaguely romantic, with a twenty five year old hermit of a brother who only leaves the basement to visit his not quite boyfriend, Frank. I'm also an anti-social mess who's most definitely going to get kicked out of his English course at college by the professor who's more than a little convinced I'm a pyromaniac, unless by some miracle the guy I met at the comic store who wants to suck me off is actually a reincarnation of William Wordsworth.</p><p>I think Pete may be one of the weirdest people I've ever met, I mean, there are not many people who find amusement in so casually involving blowjobs in their first conversation with you. Pete was a man whore, I thought man whore was a pretty weird term, but I guess Pete was a pretty weird person, so it just sort of fit, like pieces in a puzzle, or a dick in his mouth, apparently. </p><p>Maybe things would end up with Pete being my friend, or maybe even something more than that, wouldn't that just be... odd? Puzzle pieces, huh?</p><p>But things are never quite that straight forward, things just love to stray just off the key of reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

"You have to go out sometimes, Mikey." My brother, Gerard's, voice penetrated my eardrums, in an ear splittingly whiny tone, for what felt like the seven hundredth time in the past few minutes, and was now getting more irritating than painful. Gerard seemed to be good at 'irritating'; I'd noticed that a lot lately.

Gerard was a twenty five year old who still lived in his mother’s basement, surviving solely off of coffee, ramen and excessive amounts of nicotine. His room (the basement) was awfully dark, and I think he certainly exploited the fact that the basement didn’t have windows, but the absence of any light wasn’t the first thing that struck you once you set foot down there, it was the horribly pungent smell of hair dye. Gerard dyed his hair more than an aging woman that wanted to prolong her greys a few years; he’d just changed his mop of black hair into a short, bleached blonde. It made him look a little less like a vampire, and therefore prevented little children being just a little scared of him when mum forced him to go out, which probably was just about worth the extensive costs of excessive amounts of hair dye.

"I know, I’m just far too content inside right now." I tried to block out his horribly persistent begs for me to go pick up yet another bloody comic for him. If the guy had such strong feelings towards leaving the house, then I don't see why he shouldn't be more than motivated to go and fetch it for himself. A general lack of motivation towards everything and anything was one of Gerard's irreplaceable traits that I'd learned to cope and put up with over the last two decades.

He'd ordered this limited edition signed copy of a comic with a name far too ambiguous for me to even contemplate remembering, a few days ago now, and after receiving an email from the local comic book store about its arrival, he'd pinned the responsibility of collecting the goddamn thing upon me. I was not happy about this.

Gerard was unnecessarily obsessed with comics for a man who’d be alive for a quarter of a century. In fact, he was more like a twelve year old boy, and I think the only thing that’s changed in the last thirteen years of his life is his voice breaking and growing a few inches. On the inside, he’s practically the same old Gerard, which seven year old me spent most of his time being generally pissed off with.

"You literally haven't left this room for two weeks now. That's fourteen days, three hundred and thirty six hours, twenty thousand-" I had to stop him soon, because knowing Gerard; he would most certainly go on until he ran out of measurements of time to use. This was one of his most annoying qualities, and believe me, there was rather a lot of competition.

"Yeah, I get the idea." I turned the page of the book I was supposed to be reading, and not doing very well at doing so, for my English course. I was going to fail without the grade that the comprehension on this book constituted the majority of, or I knew that I was going to get kicked out of college; my professor had been very insistent on intimidating us all with the far too frequent and horribly violent reminders of that fact.

Also there was the fact that she didn't particularly get along with me; let's say, I maybe have accidentally set fire to the lecture hall once... Yeah, I'm not leaving matches in my pocket ever again, or going to lectures when I'm about as awake as a corpse. Neither of those are particularly good ideas, neither was taking a subject I have very little interest in, but at least it makes mum happy to know that at least one of her sons won’t be living in her basement forever.

I’m not exactly too sure as to why I decided upon taking English in the first place, but it was probably the only subject I was vaguely competent at and there was probably a lot of persuasion on my mother’s part. An English degree was a little eccentric, but overall rather respectful, more respectful than an apparent degree in laziness. Gerard never bothered to go to college; in fact, he’d spent the majority of his college fund on comic books. This was another thing mum wasn’t awfully pleased about, yet she didn’t quite have the heart to kick him out of the basement. It was exactly as if he was disturbing anyone; you could rather easily forget he was even there, in fact, and when mum nagged him about whatever he was going to do with his life, and that it still wasn’t too late to fill in an application form for whatever place would possibly contemplate taking him, he simply brushed everything off with the answer that he was going to be a comic book artist.

Truthfully, neither me or mum knew if there was any hope in this aspiration or whether Gerard was just convincing her to let him live off her wages and caffeine supply for as long as he could manage to, as Gerard was rather secretive about his art pieces, and was reluctant to let anyone see them.

"See, I'm clever, because I leave the house, and learn things. Learning is important, Mikey!" He had that weird preachy voice going on again, and the words sounded quite frankly rather ridiculous coming from the mouth of someone, who until very recently wouldn't leave the basement for months on end.

What he spent days down in that dark basement doing, I didn't particularly want to know, but I'd once found his sketchbook and it reminded me more so of a visual interpretation of Fifty Shades of Grey, than a sophisticated art journal, and I simply daren’t to wonder what his comic books were like, or even about for that matter.

Not that sophistication was ever one of Gerard's strong points, or subtly for that matter; I remember once when he was twelve and he did an English project on how serial killers and their pent up emotions and generally incapability to live peacefully among society just after his teacher's husband had been murdered. That really didn't go down well, as you could pretty easily guess, and this was presumably why Gerard currently wasn’t the one studying relentlessly for an English degree.

"And in what way are you aiding my education by interrupting me and preventing me from reading this book that literally is my entire grade for this semester?" I narrowed my eyes at him from behind my white framed glasses, he, of course, really didn't seem fazed at all, and more so was intrigued with peering at the book title and of course pulling a disgusted face when he recognised it to be Pride and Prejudice.

He had brewed a certain hatred for classics over the years and came to utterly despise them in the recent past. I think this was mainly the aforementioned English teacher’s fault; she’d taken a liking to classics and Gerard had pretty much taken a major dislike to everything she condoned after she put him in an after school detention for the aforementioned, and rather questionable in morals, essay.

"Ah! Study is greatly improved by breaks of fresh air, see, I'm doing you a favour, really." I rolled my eyes at him and closed the book, putting it down on the desk and glaring up at him, attempting to convey my frustration onto someone like Gerard, who quite frankly, couldn't care less. Gerard was really not about carefully planned study, and more about cramming everything he could onto the palm of his hand the morning of the exam and barely passing via the means of barely legal methods. Conventional was really not one of Gerard's strengths.

"No. You want me to do you a favour, by getting that comic book that you're far too lazy to pick up yourself." Gerard was a ridiculously lazy excuse for a brother, but at least he wasn't the preachy sports type, urging me into actually doing something physically productive in him, because Gerard would rather leave the house without eyeliner on than go to the gym, and for a boy that lives his life as some kind of cosmetic raccoon, that's a rather disturbing matter.

I was sort of glad that Gerard was lazy, because I was lazy too - I just don't think he's quite figured that out yet, well maybe it's just the fact that my laziness was nothing in comparison to his sloth like lifestyle. This lifestyle was certainly going to kill him before he hit thirty, but despise mum's constant reminders of this, he didn't seem all that fussed, but then again, that was Gerard. Maybe mum was just a little bit glad with the fact that she may only have to put up with her adult son residing in her basement for the next five years, or was that just a little bit too morbid?

"Mikes..." He groaned like a small and argumentative child, batting his eyelashes in a horribly feminine manner. "It's limited edition." I knew how Gerard felt about his comics, but I was not getting up and sacrificing my grade for his inability to gather up the motivation to do a menial task like this. "It’s limited edition!" He stressed for the final time, trying to get those two little and generally meaningless words into my head.

I did appreciate how much this meant to him, I just don't think my professor did. Much like she didn't appreciate the mini fire hazard I'd accidentally caused for her several months ago. She freaked out to the extreme, though - I'm beginning to think she has some sort of irrational fear of fire, a phobia of sorts. But the only way to cure phobias is exposure to the thing someone is scared of, and therefore, I was in fact doing her a favour. A favour in paperwork and damage fines, however? I couldn't quite justify that one. I think maybe she despised paperwork just as much as she despised me.

"Then how about you get your limited edition diva legs-" He gasped at me, mocking my words, and doing a diva spin. He looked ridiculously queer and it was rather entertaining to say the least. Seriously, Gerard would make a prettier girl than the majority of the female population and that's something I'm not entirely comfortable accepting. "And, how about you go and fetch the goddamn thing yourself!"

"Yeah, but I don't need practice-" Oh god, practice. That was actually rather ridiculous, and I was beginning to get rather intrigued as to what he'd come up with next, but then again, part of me was rather concerned, in fact. Gerard’s lifestyle and moral values were generally rather concerning, despite how much Gerard seemed to claim that he was, in fact, at the peak of sanity.

"What the actual fuck?" I could have easily beheaded Gerard years ago if he wasn't so goddamn irreplaceable, especially when it comes to lying and getting me out of uncomfortable situations. He was a useful asset, a poor excuse for a son, a terrible friend, but a more than adequate older brother, quite possibly even a good one, but only on good days. Today was not a good day.

"Watch your language, Mikey." As if he didn't regularly drop the 'f bomb' within conversation, even when small children were in earshot, and even when mum regularly scolded him for it. Gerard just generally didn't care; I guess being in your twenties diminishes a lot of the control your parents have over you, but then again there is the concern that Gerard is still living with us and has no concern with moving out or anything along those lines. I know I was still here too, but I was planning to get out of here as soon as we'd paid off the majority of these goddamn student loans, and mum was more than complacent with the fact that my prospects stretched further than a darkened basement, several metric tonnes of paper, and marker pens in every colour under the sun.

"I'm twenty." I responded with a stern glare, as if he needed reminding, though. However, no matter how many times I did remind him, he never seemed to stop babying me around, but then again, I guess that was the big brother thing. He'd never lost those memories of when I was in 8th grade and getting picked on by these kids relentlessly, and I wished I could never forget the look on their faces as my five foot seven, 12th grade brother came in and made sure they left me alone for the rest of their days; which, he did, in fact, do a rather successful job of.

"I'm twenty five." Gerard smirked at me, waggling his eyebrows wildly and in a somewhat concerning manner. He loved being the oldest, and certainly loved using it to his advantage in any and all situations, and I was very sure he'd be using the older brother ploy within the next few minutes as one final attempt of bullying me into going and getting that comic.

And after that was unsuccessful, he'd end up resorting to pushing me out a window and locking me out until I came back with his goddamn comic. If I had any friends, I could have very easily crashed with them, but the only person I exchanged conversation with on a somewhat regular basis, who didn't live under the same roof as me, was Gerard's 'incredibly close friend', Frank. I was more than certain that the two of them were very much in love and just failed to see it. You never know maybe I'll just push the two of their lips together the next time Frank comes around. I’d be doing both of them a favour, really.

"Yes, I'm well aware, thank you." He rolled his eyes at me; sarcasm was his strong point and he did not like it when I ‘robbed it from him’. I didn't often, because when we got into a sarcasm match he'd would metaphorically massacre me into a mess of self-conscious, blood, guts, insecurities, and of course a pair of white framed glasses. This was not one of his ‘adequate older brother’ features, and more of his ‘terrible friend’ ones.

"Regardless, I've left the house every day for the past week-" Oh, god he was droning on again. This had proven to be his biggest achievement within the past week, and part of me was at least glad I was regularly getting a few peaceful hours to myself every day, because with the amount of course work that was being piled on us now, I more than damn well needed it. Gerard wasn't exactly the best person at ridding you from distraction, seeing as he took it upon himself to regularly harass you as and when he felt like it.

"Yes, to visit your boyfriend, I know." I rolled my eyes tirelessly at him, and he gave me a playful shove on the arm. He was adamant that Frank and himself were nothing more than very good friends who just flirted relentlessly with one another as a sign of friendly affection and that their prolonged and far too romantic hugs meant nothing more than a sign of friendship, and those many moments when I caught one of them eye-fucking the other was nothing more than a coincidence, obviously.

And that the poem I found that Gerard had written about the boy with the 'scorpion tattoo' was of course not about Frank, despite the perfect description of him. How Gerard had managed to deny that one I didn't know, I think he was just glad he'd managed to burn it before I could manage to show it to Frank. Not that I would be such a douchebag- okay, maybe I was planning to, but in the end, Frank never did see it, so it’s practically the same outcome.

"Frank is not my boyfriend!" Not yet, he isn't. I was still working on that one. Sometimes I liked to help myself deal with my utter lack of a love life by constantly intruding upon Gerard's, and acting as a matchmaker between him as his pathetic excuse for a 'best friend'.

It was clear they had a crush on one another from the first time Gerard invited Frank over and they just stood in the hallway for a good few minutes, admiring one another, or as Gerard would put it 'the hallway'. Why someone who had lived here for a quarter of a century, needed to spend several prolonged minutes admiring his own hallway, I hadn't a clue.

"Yeah, for sure he isn’t. I've seen the way you look at each other." I winked suggestively at him, and later smirking at the blush forming upon his cheeks. "Or the way you admire the hallway-" He flushed a horribly shade of red, and I instantly knew I'd caught him out, and was now promptly awaiting the string of insults that'd soon follow, because when it was Gerard, they always did.

"Fuck off, oh my god!" My brother had now become a human tomato and I wasn't going to lie about the fact that it was ridiculously amusing and there was nothing that was going to stop me from chuckling at this one. "Shut up-"

"I'm not saying anything, Gee." I reminded him- well, now I was, but I doubted that either me or Gerard were as annoying as to point something as irritating as that out. Or at least I hoped so, but with Gerard you could hardly tell.

"You were laughing." He pouted at me ridiculously, which of course, only made me chuckle more, this all being much to his displeasure. He mimicked some sort of ridiculously disappointed meerkat, and it was quite simply just ridiculously amusing to witness.

"We do not 'look' at each other." He did little air quotes whilst saying the word 'look', which simply signified that he meant the term 'eye-fuck' by that, because seriously I swear he spent most of the time that Frank was here, undressing him with his eyes, as he fantasised about doing so in the real world no doubt.

They made an odd couple, but a good one, because I don't think there was anyone that could put up with Gerard just as well as Frank did, and I think that's love - the ability to see through all faults and see a person for the real beauty they have inside- but what would I know? I'm Mikey Way, the grand twenty year old virgin and general klutz when it came to anything vaguely romantic. Not that I exactly wanted that as my tagline, even if it was painstakingly truthful.

"Yeah, you do. I've seen you, and there's also the fact that you're always over at his place, in his bedroom, perhaps?" Gerard defiantly shook his head, but despite how much he did so, it could never affect just how right I was. "Do you spend that time in his bedroom also under his sheets, perhaps?" I wondered if they'd had sex before, and then promptly stopped myself as I came to the realisation as to what a weird fact that was, especially to think about someone as generally disgusting as my big brother who made a habit of not washing for days on end - again, a trait born out of laziness.

"Shut up." He was blushing again; it was ridiculously easy to see just how he felt about Frank. Frank was just quite obviously special to Gerard - anyone could see that. I mean, Frank was even openly gay; this ship had practically sailed already. Gerard just had to grow the balls to tell him how he felt, or if he spent too long doing so, then maybe someone would just have to do it for him, and maybe that someone would just have to be me.

"You two are meant for one another, plain and simple." The two of them just clicked: Frank shared Gerard's love of comics and obscure bands combined, and if that isn't true love then I just don't get the point of the concept at all.

"You're wrong, plain and simple." No, he was wrong, plain and simple, or maybe just blind. Blind to Frank's constant eye-fucking, and I swear I saw some movement down below when he stayed for dinner once, and I think maybe he rushed off so quickly afterwards because of that problem, and not because his mum had texted him. I bet his mum hadn't even texted him at all, perhaps his mum doesn’t even have a mobile; I may have to investigate further.

"I know you at least have a crush on him." I glared menacingly at him, and his cheeks tinged pink slightly - I knew it! "You do! C'mon admit it!" This was like finding a needle in a haystack, and soon enough I'd find myself burning the hay just to find out that he fucking goddamn would admit this massive, overgrown, complicated mess of a crush on Frank that had manifested in that godforsaken head of his for god knows how long.

"If I admit, that maybe I do, in fact, maybe, have the tiniest," he gestured with his fingers, "little, tiny, tiny crush on him, will you go and get that comic book?" He pleaded. Ha, tiny! If the Eiffel Tower is what is considered tiny, then go ahead. This crush was massive and more like a smash than a crush, and I could tell that even now it was tearing away at and crushing his insides.

"If you admit that you're in love with him." He inhaled sharply, clearly in neck snapping territory with me. "Which is the truth, by the way; you do love him." He just glared at me, an empty look in his eyes that screamed that maybe, just maybe he was contemplating it. If he did I think I may just explode, and then may if he did accept it, Operation ‘Get Him To Tell Frank’ could begin, or if that wasn't as fruitful as I would hope then maybe I'd have to just accidentally let something slip in front of Frank, or would that be too harsh? If it’s for Gerard’s own good, then maybe, I could just allow myself to accidentally let a little something slip.

"Fine, I’ll do it." Fucking hell, was he actually going to? Oh wait, that comic was at stake, so maybe he actually would. Then, of course, when he did, there was of course the actual process of retrieving the goddamn thing, but my coursework could wait if Gerard was making this much progress when it came to his feelings towards Frank. What has happened to my priorities, seriously?

"Go on, then." I said into the far too complacent silence, watching with far too much amusement as Gerard looked rather flustered under my gaze. This all was amusing me far too much more than it should be.

"I'm in love with him." He snapped at me, blushing wildly because it was so painfully true. I felt like cheering or even throwing a fucking party - I was stupidly proud of him. But, wait - I could torture him more; oh god, I was a terrible person, but I could make him say the full thing, and that would just be the best thing ever.

"Wait, who? Who, Gerard, who are you in love with?" I was most certainly teasing him now, but enjoying it nonetheless. He was going to kill me for this, and I was more than certain of that fact, but right now, I really couldn't care less.

"Frank." He mumbled a series of vulgar curses under his breath, which did nothing but make me grin with amusement, yet he still hadn't said it all in one go, and therefore I wasn't quite satisfied enough to go out and fetch the goddamn thing for him.

"Say the full thing." He glared at me so furiously, I swear he'd storm out and simply go and get the comic himself by now, which would allow me to get on with my coursework and he'd said the majority of it, so therefore it was a win-win situation for me, and I could tell that he very much did not like that at all.

"I'm in love with Frank." I chuckled, smirking wildly. He'd actually said it, this was perfect, and now I could get him to finally admit it to that guy- Jesus, I sounded like some sort of ridiculous fan girl, but I hardly cared. "Now go and get me my fucking comic!" Ah, shit, yeah. I actually had to do that. Oh well, it was worth it, I guess.

"Language-" Okay, maybe he wasn't in the mood for my ridiculously poor attempts at humour; I didn’t exactly blame him.

"Don't even start!" Yeah, my suspicions had been pretty much confirmed, and I decided it best just to oblige and get out of the house before Gerard could inflict any form of revenge upon me.

"Alright - I'm going!" I cried, grabbing a jacket from the side of my bed and hurrying out of the room as fast as I could, and hopefully before Gerard spontaneously combusted all over me, which wouldn't exactly be pleasant, but considering his facial expression, it seemed more than plausible at this very minute in time, which of course, made it all the more essential to get out.

-

'Curse Gerard and his fucking comics.' I thought as I dragged my waterlogged body through the rain, hail and whatever else the heavens could conjure up to pelt onto me already weak body. I'd have to throw a whole swimming-pool's worth of water over Gerard to compromise for making me go out in what was turning out to be Jersey's worst rainstorm in at least the past five years.

I regretted even bothering to straighten my, now dark with water, brown hair this morning, as it had now expelled all the artificial heat I'd insisted on destroying it with prior, and embracing the hundreds of water droplets that were free to land upon it without the protection of a hood, hat, umbrella or anything of the sort, and it had now rebelliously insisted upon frizzing out in an awkwardly comical manner. Let’s say, I was not a fan of the mad clown look.

Thankfully, however, it seems the remainder of the population of Jersey had been more than aware of the rainstorm I was now fully exposed to, and had opted for the intelligent option of spending today inside, which I too would be, if Gerard hadn't so gloriously intervened, regardless of that, I was just generally thankful that no one was around to see my atrocious and waterlogged state.

My clothes were drenched and the cotton of my black t-shirt insisted upon clinging to my icy cold skin like some sort of dysfunctional wetsuit. Then there was the issue that my tightest pair of jeans, which for god knows what reason, I had decided to put on this morning, would simply not slide off my legs no matter how hard I tried, and I'd probably have to get Gerard to cut them off or something with those fabric scissors he owned for a reason I didn't dare to dig into (which would be a terrible shame as these were my favourite and only decent pair of jeans).

I was more than glad when the sign for the comic shop came into view, despite the fact it was painfully badly spelt and was written out with little regard for grammatical conduct by someone who had barely even sat through one English class, and as an English student, my professor's grammar Nazi tendencies had begun to unwantedly rub off on me.

It was the only shop still open on the row of streets, the other shopkeepers clearly deciding that the rainstorm everyone in the world seemed to know about besides me, would keep all the customers at bay, however thankfully the comic book shop hadn't taken the same decision. I think it was the fact that Gerard's comic arrived today, and that Gerard was practically their only customer.

As I finally reached the shop door, I gave it a strong tug before it finally pushed open and the warm air from inside the shop hit me like a brick to the face, but it was a good brick, a welcome brick. And then the sickening smell of glossed paper hit me, and I decided that maybe this brick wasn't quite that welcome after all, but after taking just one glance back outside, I pushed myself inside and promptly shut the door behind me.

I leaned against the shop door, panting heavily, and more than relived to have finally escaped the buckets full of rain I'd ended up near enough sprinting through in order to escape. Quite frankly, I was beginning to suspect that Gerard had simply just checked the weather forecast; something I'd been too busy studying to do.

And now, my glasses were steamed up and my hair ruined, not to mention the fact that I was drenched and in a state comparable to a stray dog. Not the best of looks, to be honest, not that I was entirely all that fussed right now, and was more concerned with finding the radiator in this place and setting up camp next to it. Not that the shopkeeper would undoubtedly be extremely happy with that plan of action.

"You should've brought an umbrella."

A horribly cocky voice called from behind the counter, and I soon found myself eye to eye with a guy of about five foot seven, with a honey complexion and dark brown hair styled into a fringe that was growing out just a little too long so that it hung untidily over his eyes, covering patches of his thick, dark brows that were raised as he surveyed my drenched state. His eyes were rimmed with a thin line of black eyeliner, and his arms were littered with far too many tattoos for me not to question as how he'd actually managed to get employed, but then I figured that a place as small as this is probably more liberal and relaxed when it comes to things like that.

"Well, it's a bit late for that now, isn't it?" I borderline snapped at him, blushing as I realised I'd been a little too harsh and I really didn't want to get kicked out and back into the thunder storm for staff harassment. Thankfully, he just chuckled and climbed over the counter, walking over to me and dragging me back over to the other end of the shop with him. What-

"What- what are you doing?" I started struggling under his strong grip, his fingers clamped down up the shoulders of my soaking jacket. Was he kidnapping me or something? Nah, that'd be ridiculously, and regardless, he didn't quite look like the type. Yet, neither did Ted Bundy- no, he was smiling at me; I doubted he was going to do anything like that-

"Dude, chill; it’s fine." He let go of his grip and I leaned back shyly against the counter. "I'm just getting you a towel. I don't want you dripping all over the displays over there you see." He pointed to where I had been standing previously, and suddenly I felt entirely less threatened, and maybe just a little bit guilty as my eyes flickered over the puddle of water that was slowly being absorbed by the carpet.

"Oh." He seemed content with my response and with the fact he hadn't entirely startled me, and proceed to go back over the counter and into the store room in the back. I spent the next minute or so, letting my eyes flicker around the comic posters that lined the walls as I tried all too much as not to excessively drip all over his shop and more importantly any stock that looked vaguely important or expensive. Thankfully, he soon returned with a towel, which he did a terrific job at hitting me in the face with, which I didn't exactly appreciate.

"Ouch!" I let out a rather expressionless grumble, and he simply chuckled, far too amused by my situation and perched himself upon the end of the counter as I dried myself off the best I could, whilst trying and failing, to hide my blushing state as he practically watched me dry myself. I threw the towel back to him after a minute and he grinned at me, before hastily throwing it back in the storeroom.

I assumed he was the only person who'd bothered to show up to work today as he wasn't exactly being all that abiding towards the rule of keeping the place tidy and seemed to be rather lax about standards, judging by the complete lack of uniform, unless this place decided that a black skeleton printed t-shirt and jeans similarly tight to mine were uniform.

He perched himself on the edge of the counter I was leaning against and grinned at me, "I'm Pete, if you were wondering the name of the guy who just hit you in the face with a towel." Thank you, yes I was. Would you mind giving me your last name too so I could sue you for that? I smirked to myself, deciding that maybe saying something like that to someone I'd just met wasn't exactly the best course of action.

I chuckled slightly, and came to the conclusion that maybe this guy, that maybe Pete was okay. "I'm Mikey." I paused. "In case you were wondering the name of the guy you just hit in the face with a towel." He laughed, and looked around the comic shop for a few moments. "Did you actually come in here for something or were you just sheltering from the rain? I mean I'm supposed to kick you out if you aren't actually intending to buy anything, but you're an alright guy, and I'm in dire need of company, so you never know; I might not." He definitely seemed to be okay.

I just laughed. "Are you the only person who turned up to work today?" I grinned at him and he blushed a little in embarrassment, which led me to assume that it was probably the case.

"Yeah, forgot to check the weather today - I was running late and all, fuck's sake..." He inhaled deeply, his eyes wandering around the room in a stressful manner and he looked like he was craving something; possibly a smoke. A just kind of hoped he didn't smoke - I was already bound to get lung cancer with the amount of passive smoking Gerard had inflicted upon me, and I didn't exactly want my chances doubling.

"That makes two of us!" I exclaimed, laughing a little sadistically, he met my gaze and the corners of his lips turned up into a small smile. "And then my brother took advantage of my forgetful stupidity and convinced me to go outside." He chuckled at that, seemingly far too amused by my misfortune. "Hey! Don't laugh." That didn't stop him, of course.

"Yeah, brothers are like that." He paused for a moment, "haven't got one myself, but I have friends." Okay, at least he wasn't a hermit. We'd ruled out psychopath, kidnapper and hermit by now, so unless he was else equally dodgy this guy seemed to be okay.

I don't. I wanted to say, but I doubted it'd bode well. "Yeah, I figured." He chuckled a little, his eyes drifting out towards the windows and his gaze fixating upon the torrential rainfall attacking Jersey today. I regretted ever being born in a town so fucking freezing as this one. "Look at this rain, Jesus Christ!"

I inhaled slowly, reminding myself of the inevitable fact that I'd have to make my way home through that, and whatever else nature would pull out of its sleeves as the day went on. "I know." I watched as the hail hit the windows like tiny little white cannonballs; it was pretty from in here, but once I was out there again, I'm sure I'd be cursing everything under the sun- oh wait, the irony. "I have to walk home again through that." I gestured towards the windows.

"Dude, just stay here - I'm lonely as balls." He suggested, a little too seriously. He was alright and seemed to generate a fairly decent conversation, but I'd only just met the guy and I'd rather be back home with Gerard's bloody comic as fast as I could so I could finally continue with my course work and possibly consider passing this semester – something that wasn’t quite as high on my list of priorities as it should be.

"Nah, you're good. I'm here to collect something." I rummaged in my pocket and handed him the slip of paper that Gerard had written the rather specific name of the comic he wanted on. He looked a little disappointed that he'd have to camp out this rainstorm in the shop alone, but it sure beat battling through the watery hell outside.

He squinted slightly as he read it. "Ah. Yeah, I’ll go grab it - one sec." He ran back into the storage and returned a few minutes later with a comic wrapped securely in a plastic bag. "Here you go." He handed it to me, and I couldn't help peeking inside and admiring the limited edition stickers that Gerard had been fussing over excessively for what felt like forever. Admittedly, they were awfully shiny, but I guessed that wasn't exactly what Gerard was so excited over, or maybe it was, and he really was still just twelve.

"Is it for your girlfriend? Or boyfriend maybe, you can swing that way; it's fine. I mean, I do-" I just laughed; the fact that he considered that anyone would be romantically inclined towards someone like me, especially in my current waterlogged state. Maybe I should lend him my glasses? I hadn't dated anyone in forever, and I hadn't dated anyone seriously, ever.

It was kind of okay when Gerard was equally as romantically unsuccessful as I was, and we could joke about it and make fun of rom-coms and chick flicks and explode into hysterical fits of laughter when mum told us that the right girl would be waiting for us, we just had to find her. Admittedly, I was partly laughing because Gerard was quite blatantly gay, but neither of them needed to know that. But now, Gerard had Frank who was just as in love with him as he was, and I would never quite bring myself to formally admit it, but maybe I was just feeling a little left out.

"Nah, it's for my brother." He grinned at me, seemingly a little satisfied with my answer for god knows what reason; maybe he'd made a bet with himself or something equally crazy like that. "I'm not quite that kind of guy." I'd decided that that was a better way to convey my eternally single status rather than proclaiming my suppressed feelings of being forever alone, especially to someone who look as casually uninterested as him.

"What for dating?" He raised one thick eyebrow, a look in his eyes that said he was thinking something over which both concerned and intrigued me at the same time. "Or for inces-" I interrupted him with my laughter - if he'd even considered that, he was probably just a little tipsy, but I doubted that a shop like this would have an alcohol supply to rival a local pub, but you never know. This guy seemed pretty odd, after all, so you never know.

"Yeah, I just think girls are really too much fuss, man. I just want to sit in my room all day and watch Breaking Bad, to be honest. I'm far too busy to with coursework to by worrying about dates and gifts and all that shit they seem to need on a daily basis to be complacent with being committed to you. It's just ridiculous." Okay, I really didn't have much of clue as to what the hell I was talking about but he seemed to be agreeing with me, so everything seemed to be going okay.

"Know what you mean, bro." His face lit up in a way that concerned me just a little, "you should try dudes. I, in fact, know several guys that are more than happy to suck you off during an episode of Breaking Bad. I, myself, am far too addicted to that show and wouldn't be able to focus, therefore doing a poor job." Oh my god was he even joking or not? I hoped he was, but he looked hella serious and I just stood there silently blushing a far too much, before I managed to form a somewhat coherent response.

"Honestly I've never had my dick sucked before so even if you did a shitty job I wouldn't be able to tell." That was most certainly one of the weirdest sentences I've ever said, but I think Pete may be one of the weirdest people I've ever met, so it kind of fits, I guess. I mean, there are not many people who find amusement in so casually involving blowjobs in their first conversation with you, but it's a new experience I guess.

He chuckled in a playfully amused manner, "you want your first time to be good though; the last thing you want to do is regret it- wait are you?" His features pulled into a devious smirk, as if he'd realised something incredibly intriguing yet disastrous at the exact same time and was making no hesitance in letting in plague his mind as he explored the concept, “are you considering my offer?" 

Fuck! That hadn't be what he was considering or thinking- because, fuck! I most certainly was not considering his offer, not that I didn't like him, he was just not the gender I tend to go for, and there was the fact that we only just met and he could have a shit ton of STDs for all I knew- not that I was saying he did, it's just a hypothesis-

"Shut up. I am not at all considering your offer..." He looked a little like a disappointed puppy, and I was a little startled as I began to realise that maybe he wasn't joking as much as I thought he was, but I just wasn't that kind of person and he wasn't going to guilt trip me into anything. "I- I don't like guys." I stuttered out, and I think this was most definitely the first time I'd felt embarrassed and almost guilty for not being gay. Pete was really quite an odd person, but I think that's quite what made him Pete, along with the rest of his co-workers abandoning him today. Or is that a little too harsh?

"You've never been with one, so really you don't know, do you?" He winked at me, and I couldn't deny that he was quite attractive when he did that, and I was now more than aware that he was charming me until I obliged, but I really wasn't going to let him. "Mikey, everyone's gay until proven otherwise."

"I'm not quite sure that's quite right..." Pete's logic was more than a little biased, and I'm not sure if it even constituted as logic in any form of context, if there even was any, which I highly doubted, and I was only beginning to suspect that he'd downed a can of beer or two before I'd arrived.

"You're wrong. Everyone's gay until proven straight." He met me with a stern gaze, and I still didn't budge my harsh and skeptical expression, "okay, you don't believe me." I nodded, at least wasn't going sugar coat things enough to ignore that. "Let me elaborate. Gok Wan, he's gay, and he found that out by sucking a dick so he's not straight, but if let's say that... I don't know... Obama, was to like get it on with Mitt Romney or something like-"

"What are you smoking dude?" Pete was definitely not as sane as I'd first figured, but it didn't look like he was going to let me leave without explaining this whole batshit crazy theory to me, not that I particularly wanted to be exposed to whatever kind of messed up logic was governing Pete's head right now.

He simply shushed me and continued 'elaborating', "and then he decided that he liked that then he's proved that he's gay, but until he's done that he's undecided." Pete's insights were certainly 'interesting' to say the least, if not more than just a little concerning.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure he proved he was straight when he got married, to his wife." Pete just appeared awfully disappointed and resorted to tutting at me, almost as if I'd spoiled his whole 'conspiracy' or whatever the bloody fuck this was. "And I'm not married, but I'm pretty sure, I'm straight."

"How can you be sure?" He winked at me, and I groaned as my cheeks flushed a stupid shade of red. Pete just didn't get it; I mean what was so special about my dick that made him wanting to suck it so much - I quite frankly hadn't a clue. Maybe I should ask him, or would that just be a little too indirect.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure - I mean I'm looking at you and my dick's perfectly fine-" Oh, maybe that was a bad example; giving him an ego boost wasn't exactly the best of ideas, I figured, seeing as what I've already heard pass him lips really wasn't exactly A* when it came to modesty and sophistication and his lack of it.

"So you're implying I'm attractive?" He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I turned a horrible shade of red, I was just hoping he wouldn't pick up on that, but of course, he fucking had to. My luck would just have it, and he wouldn't let me wriggle my way out of this one, not now, not at all, not ever. I'd just have to be eternally ridiculed before I could escape into the now rather pleasant looking hail and never have to face a dude as crazy as Pete again.

"I-I, uhh shut up!" He was attractive, but in no way was I going to allow his ego to take that power up, but it was rather clear that his ego was getting in the way of him believing a single world that left my mouth from now on, no matter how much truth it held or didn't. "I don't-" Every word that left my lips just shattered like a sheet of glass into a million asymmetrical shards of syllables no longer coherent and long forgotten.

"Whatever, dude." Thankfully he disregarded my general incompetence when it came to partaking in conversation, then he paused for a moment. "You mentioned a brother?" Oh my god; it took all I had not to burst out laughing - Pete was just a walking cliché, far too good to be true, and far too bad to be good for me. But there was no way Gerard would date Pete, even if he wasn't so utterly pre-occupied with Frank, Pete just quite clearly wasn't his type of guy. It'd end very messily and with an unexpected trip to the hospital that no one would be too keen about.

"I'm afraid he's already far too preoccupied, I'm sorry. He does swing your way though, so maybe if things don't work out with him and Frank, even though I doubt they won't, maybe-" I wondered if I should even mention Frank to Pete at all, but seeing as he didn't know the guy, it couldn't do that much harm, unless he was planning on murdering us all or something equally concerning like that, but I think we just about ruled that one out already.

"Nah, he doesn't sound like my type, commitment and all." I raised my eyebrows at him. Pete really was awfully confusing and not the kind of guy I'd imagine spending any amount of time with, let alone spend time talking to in a shop - I just didn't do casual conversation, especially not with people like Pete, but I think maybe the atrocious weather was a changing factor here, or maybe it was the glossy paper smell that had drugged me as soon as I set foot in this goddamn shop- No, I was most definitely overreacting right now, but of course, that didn't exactly stop the thoughts of exaggeration from dancing round my head like some kind of deranged monkey circus.

"You're basically a man whore then?" He burst into laughter, and I was just glad I hadn't been impolite, but I think our previous conversation on the subject of blowjobs had pretty much ruled out Pete having any grasp upon the concept of impolite at all.

"There are nicer ways to put it, but really, I just haven't found the right guy yet." He paused, his tongue running over his bottom lip in a poorly seductive manner. "And this is precisely why you should take up my offer, because really, you just haven't found the right guy yet either." And now within one slightly disturbing conversation he'd decided that we were meant for each other. Okay then; I just accepted it, because really this was far from the weird thing that's left Pete's mouth so far.

"I've got far too much studying to be doing to even consider being sucked off, not even by Pete the man whore." He smirked at me, apparently approving of his new title, and I was wondering if he'd end up getting a name badge saying that or something equally preposterous yet somehow perfectly normal for someone like him.

I thought man whore was a pretty weird term, but I guess Pete was a pretty weird person, so it just sort of fit, like pieces in a puzzle, or a dick in his mouth, apparently. I heard that people who brag about sex don't get that much of it, so maybe Pete was just deprived and horribly hormonal, which would maybe excuse some of his behaviour, but in no way all of it.

"You're not very nice to me, Mikey the cock block." I blushed at that, of course. Cock block: yet again, what an odd term, coming from the mouth of an odd person. Puzzle pieces; everything just seemed to fit today. I don't know what it was, maybe God was apologising for the terrible weather, or maybe karma was feeling sorry for me for once. Or Pete could just be pulling some weird, creepy and voodoo cupid shit between us. As you may have guessed, I wasn't exactly keen on the latter option.

"I'm going to get kicked out of college if I fail, so seriously-" I kept reminding myself of this fact constantly today, and I think maybe it was beginning to take a toll on my sanity, as the time ticked on and the pressure built up, along with the amount of pages I had to push on through. I didn't quite fancy getting kicked out, and I doubted that mum would be awfully pleased with me and would probably disown me and I'd have to live as some sort of weird hermit in the basement after Gerard moved permanently into Frank's bedroom.

"What are you studying?" He was awfully persistent, wasn't he? I was horribly desperate to leave, but every so often, my gaze caught sight of the generally worsening conditions outside and my subconscious decided it better to put up with the clusterfuck that was Pete for a minute longer. Which in afterthought, always turned out to be the worst decision.

"English." I answered, thoughts of all my many unread pages of Pride and Prejudice running through my head and I squirmed slightly, as I remember just how unpleasant it would be get through this, especially if Gerard insisted on inviting Frank over and insisted on banging him a story below where I was studying, right where I could hear most of the action; which was quite frankly, disgusting, because no one wants to hear their older brother have sex, not one at all. Not even perverts. Not that I've ever met one, so I wouldn't exactly know- oh wait, Pete. Pete pretty much classed as a pervert, at least by my standards. I’m glad that he doesn’t have any siblings – for their sake.

"I'm good at English, great in fact." Of course he wasn't - he hadn't even spelt 'rentals' correctly on the sign outside. I remembered my little grammar Nazi fit from earlier, before I pushed the door open and allowed myself the wonderful pleasure of meeting the absolute joy that is Pete.

"Sure you are." I nodded sarcastically and he just laughed. "There's an 'A' in rentals, by the way." I let slip, and he grinned instantly, thankfully getting what I was referencing and therefore not making me look like an absolute idiot. Looking like an absolute idiot was one of my many talents, as you may have managed to guess by now.

"Yeah, I know." He smirked at me, his teeth flashing through his stretched lips. "James wrote the sign. He's dyslexic and he was so proud of the thing, none of us had the heart to tell him. We're just so proud of his progress, like wow." Yeah, for sure; Pete's not a murderer or a hermit, but he most certainly is a liar.

"That's a horribly elaborate lie." I wasn't even discreet about it, but he was hardly discreet about lying and therefore he practically earned it. Not that it'd offended him exactly, seeing as this 'James' was about as real as the tooth fairy- oh wait, he was probably going claim that he was in fact the tooth fairy herself within the next few seconds, just wait for it.

"Yeah, I don't even know anyone called James, to be honest." I just rolled my eyes at him: great lying skills, there. "So I therefore formally apologise to all James' I may have offended." At least he's moderately polite when he wants to be (polite in an unconventional manner). Unconventionality seemed to surround me wherever I looked in my life. Perhaps, I just led an unconventional life.

"I've got to get back now; Gerard will have not be pleased if his limited edition comic and all that shit doesn't return promptly." Pete grinned at me, a little disheartened by my pleading to escape, but he knew I did actually have to get back, or at least I hoped so. And there also was the issue of Gerard not being pleased with my awfully late return, but it should serve him right: the weather isn't exactly holiday resort worthy.

"Yeah, you've got that studying to do and lonely Breaking Bad episodes to watch, alone." I rolled my eyes at him. He was not going to suck me off, not today, not tomorrow, not next week, not ever. And I hoped this disappointed him. Pete was a man whore though, this probably didn't faze him entirely at all, and he'd just pull the same thing with the next guy would walked in the shop. I mean, I wasn't even decent looking; I was just the only guy he'd seen today that wasn't like sixty nine years old.

"Gerard watches them with me." I ignored his suggestive eyebrow wiggles, this guy just knew no boundaries did he? It was just ridiculous, yet intriguing, because I'd never met and fortunately never would meet anyone quite like Pete, ever again. "Gerard is my brother." He pulled out his mouth into an extended smile that screamed, 'oops', but he probably didn't mean to apologise that much entirely.

"Gerard Way?" I nodded, slightly confused. Had he been stalking me or something equally as concerning like that? Could he possibly already know everything there was to know about me and was just luring me into some sort of weird kidnap, murder, hermit, liar plot- No, I was too damn paranoid, but with reason, because- no. I was paranoid and that was that. Pete was just an ordinary guy that just wanted to suck me off a little too much for me not to be concerned.

"Yeah, I have a friend who knows him - Ray Toro: guitar hero, king of the 'fro." He strung off a series of titles that sounded like Guitar Hero made some sort of hair cutting expansion or something ridiculous like that. Thinking about that, it would be awfully odd, wouldn't it? Albeit amusing to play. And Gerard would hate it, because Frank would always be better than him at him. Frank's just fucking Jesus when it comes to shit like that, well guitar Jesus, as I doubted the King of the Jews had an awful lot of time for things like that.

"You sure this Ray isn't the right guy for you?" I winked at him, anything to keep him away from my dick really, but if he knew Gerard then I'm sure Gerard would do a pretty good job at cock-blocking for him, though he'd probably fall for Frank and Gerard would end up ripping his face from his skull or something like that, and then they'd realise their true love for one another and have a silver screen worthy kiss... whilst Gerard is stilling clutching Pete's now detached face, and Pete's faceless body is spurting blood at an alarming rate out of shot, yet everyone's too infatuated with Frank and Gerard's kiss to even consider get Pete any medical attention.

"Very sure; haven't talked to him in a while, though." Ooh, sexual tension is very apparent there, then. Jesus fucking Christ- I sounded like some sort of voodoo cupid today. Never mind whatever the hell was going on up in there crazy head of Pete's. Not that I particularly wanted to know, not for my sanity's sake anyway.

"So you're someone who knows someone who knows someone I once knew, and you want to suck me off?" He nodded, as if this was the normal, which it quite possibly was for him, I just didn't want to dwell on that for awfully long. "That's ridiculous." He probably thought I was ridiculous, but at least I wouldn't be contracting thousands of diseases. Now it sounded like I bitching about him or some shit, which I wasn't, I was just expressing my very strong feelings about not wanting to suck him off, that he just didn't quite seem to comprehend.

"Whatever." I began to walk towards the door, waiting for the moment that I'd never have to see Pete ever again, but then again, the thought of him knowing Gerard would probably diminish my chances of ever being free of the guy and his insanity and his Breaking Bad dick sucking fantasies that I'd rather he'd keep to himself, but that didn't realistically look like it was ever happening.

"Hey!" He grabbed me and pulled me back, pushing a piece of paper into my pocket. "You aren't leaving without my number." Oh god, at least I didn't actually have to call him. He had no way of ensuring that I did. Did he? Dear god if this was some elaborate planned hatched with Gerard to embarrass me into stopping going on about Gerard's horribly apparent love for Frank, I would kill a bitch. Gerard qualified as a bitch, didn't he? I think there was something about killing your brother that was very morally wrong, but there was also something very morally wrong when it came to Pete and therefore I think if I just pointed karma in his direction, it'd soon forget all about me.

I rolled my eyes, as eager as one could be to step out into the worst rainstorm ever, "and why would I need to call you?" I'd actually like to see how he could possibly manage to justify this without including anything along the lines of his Breaking Bad fantasies that I really never wanted to hear about ever again.

"I am good at English you know." I remained skeptical, for shit he was. He's good at English and I'm going to pass this course- oh how ironically, that the two of those seem to coincide rather perfectly. Goddamn puzzle pieces, again. Like seriously this voodoo cupid shit that was being pulled was starting to concern me rather than annoy me by now. "I'd let you read my poetry if you weren't so harsh to me." Fucking hell, there's poetry. I wondered if it was comparable to Gerard's 'Ode to Frank', which of course, most obviously was not at all in anyway what so ever about him. In fact, it was probably about the hallway, you know.

"Oh there's poetry?" I raised one eyebrow, more than a little intrigued by this little piece of information, because maybe I was just more than a little curious to read some of Pete's poetry, maybe just to see what it was like: 'Ode to Sucking a Dick', perhaps? Or was that maybe just a little tiny bit too indiscreet? This was Pete, so it wasn't, not at all.

"Yes, yes there is, and maybe if you text me, I'll let you read some." God, he was good. So maybe I was now slightly inclined to text him, but I didn't think I wanted to be bombarded by Pete's texts about subjects I'd rather not hear about at random intervals.

Maybe I'd have to use someone else's phone. Gerard's perhaps? Nah, if Pete knew Gerard then he'd quite possibly already have his number saved and Gerard would see it and would blame me instantly. Maybe I'd use Frank's. Frank would suspect Gerard at first, surely. It was probably morally wrong to do something like that, but I think maybe morals had taken a day off, along with the rest of Jersey.

"Whatever, I'm going now." I turned the door, my hand on the handle, eager to leave, yet the hail still loomed outside, haunting me almost, but I couldn't spend another moment in this fucking shop with goddamn Pete.

"Please just text me, alright?" Maybe I would, but not necessarily from my phone. I was cleverer than that, of course. The poetry was something I was awfully interested in reading, though. I shouldn't be so intrigued goddamn.

"Maybe; I’ll think about it." I called as left the shop and shivered into my jacket as I sprinted through the rain, until my lungs felt like they were about to jump straight out of my chest. But I think maybe dying of a lack of oxygen was overall more pleasant than dying of hypothermia, but who knows. I didn't have much experience with either deaths, or death overall, basically.

I spent far too much of my unpleasant journey home thinking about Pete for my sanity's liking, but he was just so odd, and different, and unique, it was just like there was something about him that wouldn't ever quite leave me alone, and I just hoped that wasn't the obsessively stalkerish qualities he seemed to possess.

Maybe things would end up with Pete being my friend, wouldn't that just be... odd? Puzzle pieces, huh?

-

"You're late." Were the first words that met my ears as I slammed the door closed, shivering as I took in the central heating that Gerard had completely disregarded turning up to an unhypothermic temperature. Apparently Gerard wasn't very grateful of my treacherous trek through the harsh and soaking conditions for his bloody limited edition comic book. Heck, I even felt like ripping that goddamn thing up just to spite him, but he would just send me back out again, and believe me, I was not keen on that idea.

"Have you looked outside? It's like the rainforest!" I snapped at him, throwing my drenched jacket in his general direction. He dodged it, of course, letting it fall back against the sofa and soaking it to the extent that mum would definitely not be pleased with me for. "It’s the worst rainstorm in years, Jesus Christ!" I was more than a little passionate when it came to expressing just how shitty it was outside, but believe me, I had my reasons.

"It wasn't raining earlier; maybe you should have gone when I first said so." I shrugged it off, simply handing Gerard his comic book, which had thankfully for my sake, remained safe from water damage via the means of Pete's plastic bag defence system. He pulled the thing out and grinned at it. I was just thankful it was the right one and that I wouldn't have to go back out there again. I was just contemplating as to whom I'd rather not see again - the rain or Pete?

"Are you happy now?" I snapped in a sort of younger brotherly manner that was almost required, and in a typical older brotherly manner he wasn't at all phased by my vaguely harsh tone of voice and he grinned at me, rolling his eyes, because he would always be five years older than me and as much as I hated that, nothing would be changing it.

"Not happy, complacent." Fucking hell, why was I stuck with the world's biggest prat for my brother? I needed to be having words with mum about her child rearing skills, obviously. I did feel just a little sorry for her though, because she'd end up with a twenty five year old hermit of a son who only leaves her basement to visit his not quite boyfriend, and a twenty year old social mess who's most definitely going to get kicked out of college unless by some miracle the guy he met at the comic store who want to suck him off is actually a reincarnation of William Wordsworth.

"Obviously, because Frank isn't here-" I doubted he'd let me go on about Frank for longer than a second considering just what I'd made him admit earlier, despite the fact it was very much the truth, in fact that was probably why it made so much difference.

"May I ask why you were so long out there?" I just blanked him, what was he even getting at? "Got a girlfriend have we, Mikes?" Now, that was funny, especially when I actually thought about what, or who, had kept me so long in a certain comic shop. And then there was the fact that Pete really did quite fancy himself as my girlfriend or something of the sorts; which was both amusing and creepy at the same time.

"No, this dude in the comic shop-" I began to explain, but I realised soon that I was giving off pretty much the wrong message entirely, and the exact message Pete wanted me to convey. Perhaps, his creepy voodoo cupid shit also gave him the ability to possess me or something of the like that I daren’t think about for prolonged periods of time.

"I fucking called it!" He laughed like a maniac, "knew you were gay, Mikes." Yeah, you did, for sure. Well, I know he’s gay. The way he looks at Frank, practically does proclaim it with a megaphone, though. No, wait- I mean, the way he looks at the hallway, of course.

"I'm not." I snapped, because unlike some of us here, I actually wasn't. Gerard, however, was a class A flaming homosexual. "This is, of course, unlike yourself." I think maybe I shouldn't have said that aloud, but you know what, I went with it, because what was the worst thing he could say to me, and how could it possibly faze me after having a conversation with Pete today about everything never to be discussed the first time you meet someone.

"I'm not fucking gay-" Yeah, sure. I heard him admit something to the contrary with my own ears just this morning, so he has very little chance of even trying to lie anymore, which says that maybe he and Frank could possibly maybe get somewhere if I intervened enough. Maybe I could get Pete and his creepy voodoo cupid magic to work upon them, that'd surely help.

"So admitting you're in love with Frank wasn't at all straight, not at all? You don't think? Because you know what gay means? Do you, Gee? It means you love a guy. Frank is a guy. You love him. You're gay. Accept it." I sounded like some sort of sassy tabloid woman, but I wasn't entirely that bothered, because as long as I got the message across, then whatever means I used to do so could surely be forgotten.

"I didn't mean it; I just admitted it, because you were getting the comic... I'm not gay." Nice use of eye contact there, Gerard, or lack thereof. It's not like you're blatantly lying, is it? It's not like your cheeks look like two massive tomatoes slapped right across your face right now? Do they? Not at all, because you're obviously a heterosexual, aren't you? 

Sarcasm: Level Up!

"Frank won't be too happy about that-" I started, doubting that he'd even dream of letting me finish, and really I was right, because when aren't I? Lots of times, yeah, but let's just ignore them momentarily, for myself esteem's sake.

"I said, shut it!" I rolled my eyes, rooting around in the kitchen for a mug and some instant coffee powder. Deciding to get myself a coffee before failing to read another word of Pride and Prejudice and most likely just giving in and ending up texting Pete, maybe just for the English advice, or maybe just for the poetry, or the creepy voodoo cupid magic - who knows? "So, this guy you met in the comic shop..." Jesus Christ. We weren't going there. Pete was odd and therefore would be a rather odd person to explain to Gerard with my sanity intact, and for once I hoped he did actually know Gerard and wasn't just a weird stalker; not, that I was praying to have my own stalker or anything, I'm not quite that narcissistic, not yet.

"Yes you want to discuss this guy, whom I have no attraction towards, yes?" Okay, maybe that was just a little bit of a lie; Pete was good looking, but that doesn't mean I want him to suck me off, despite how keen he seems to be on doing so. Or that Breaking Bad fantasy; yeah, that wouldn't be mentioned. Pete would probably mention it to me if I did text him, though, which gave me another point to consider.

"Yeah, for sure you don’t." Gerard scoffed. Okay, maybe both of us Way brothers were bad liars, but that's beside the point. "Does he have a name?" What do you think? No, he's referred to by his date of birth. Of course he has a fucking name.

"Yes, yes he does." I began pouring the powder into the mug and waited rather impatiently for the kettle to boil. Coffee making was a far too long process for someone far too impatient like me to even consider exceeding at.

"Are you going to be so kind as to tell me it?" Gerard smirked at me. Nope, not chance, but guess what? I think I kind of had to. Maybe just to see if Gerard did actually know him and let myself be able to sleep easy at night, without suspecting that I have some kind of batshit crazy stalker. One who wants to suck me off at that?

"His name is Pete, are you happy now?" No, of course not; he'd be complacent, not happy. Half the words that came out of Gerard's mouth made me want to aim a brick directly at his head. But, really, could you blame me? Maybe it would just be a welcome brick.

"Pete Wentz?" I assumed that was Pete's surname, not that he ever mentioned it in the comic shop, and really I should have asked, even if it felt out of place, because how out of place was even the more decent half of the stuff he said to me. I'm permanently fucking scarred- okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but that's kind of beside the point.

"Yeah, he says he knows you through this guy called Ray, I think." I shrugged; it might not even be the right Pete. There are lots of ‘Pete’s; surely loads even in Jersey. There could be a whole Pete army- no, that's just fucking weird, odd in fact. Pete's rubbing off on me, and not in the way he wants to (thank god).

"Yeah, Ray. Pete's definitely very gay, just giving you a hint." He winked at me. Yeah, I think I've figured that out already, just maybe, nah, maybe not. He didn't exactly make it that obvious. I was still at little perplexed with Gerard's now apparently iron solid assumption that I was in fact gay, like him. It wasn't genetic, so I wasn't sure as to quite why he was so persistent about it.

"I think he's already made that quite clear." Gerard raised his eyebrows, as I poured the boiled water into my mug. God, I bet Gerard thinks we've had sex or something, which is probably exactly what Pete wants him to think, because Pete's also a narcissistic little shit like that. Then again, so am I. Puzzle pieces again.

"Ooh." He literally sounded like a fifteen year old girl and it was horribly embarrassing. "How did he?" Maybe I would prefer to be five years older than Gerard, and see how he likes it for once, I'll be quizzing him about guys he met in comic shops, unwillingly at that, and I'll be forcing him to run through storms to fetch me comic books and shit. But I don't think I'm exactly big brother material; Gerard is, but I'm just sort of born to be a younger brother- well, guess what, I was! But, I'm just not the kind of guy to be able to beat up bullies to protect my little bro. I'd chicken out, and then somehow I began to respect that Gerard was the older one; only for once, and only in this context.

"Well...." I considered telling him the truth, and then the cons of it, but I chose to ignore them, simply because if I told Gerard all I had to say then maybe he might shut up about it and let me take my chances at not failing this semester. "He offered to suck me off." Okay, maybe I shouldn't have been quite so direct about it, but fuck it! I'd been brainwashed by Pete, nothing made any sense anymore, and everything was just odd...

Gerard spluttered. "Yeah, that's Pete for you." He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes at me in a manner just couldn't quite comprehend. "Did you accept?" What the fuck- Was he planning this? Was he expecting me to accept? And was he really that insistent with his assumptions regarding my sexuality?

"What no! Of course not-"

"Damn it, Mikey!" He ruffled my hair, as he was making his way down to the basement, yet again, maybe he'd be starting on that sketch book again, maybe he'd be drawing Frank naked this time, and I'd just try my hardest not to walk into the room when he's accidentally left it open, because that's really not something I want to see. "You've got to take some initiative. However, he does know where I and therefore you live, so I wouldn't be surprised if he turns up after his shift." He winked at me, and oh my god. He would. Wouldn't he? He's Pete, of course he would! Fuck.

"And if he does, tell him to fuck off." There's not a chance in hell that he'd even contemplate leaving me alone, so I may as well text him and tell him to fuck off, or that we've moved to Malaysia or something of the like.

"Not a chance, I'll be sure to let him right in." Here’s a prime example of adequate older brother, terrible friend.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

 

-

 

An incredibly annoying beeping noise penetrated the complacent silence that hung over the room. Thankfully, Gerard had taken it upon himself to go and irritate Frank instead of me, or perhaps they'd be doing something entirely more romantic, as I had come to very much suspect would be the case, especially considering Gerard's recent confession regarding his rather short and awfully homosexual best friend, a confession that I'd pressured into existence, but a confession nonetheless.

The beeping noise had rather stubbornly refused to stop, forcing me to disregard Pride and Prejudice for what felt like the seventh thousandth time in the past few days - not that part me exactly minded at, well, the rational part, the part that cared at least just a little bit about my college grade and the rather real threat of my professor chucking me out of the course and in turn any hopes of leaving moving out before I was twenty five, and then again, there were her suspicions regarding my somewhat questionable and somewhat pyromaniacally fuelled, tendencies.

I forcefully picked up my phone, which unfortunately still insisted on relentlessly sounding out throughout the barely acceptable study environment, and glancing at the caller I.D. – Pete; should've guessed, really. Pete had somehow come to the conclusion that the best way to assist me with my study was relentless calling, texting and general irritation, because nothing upped your grade like an inability to concentrate.

I picked up on the sole condition that there wouldn't be a chance that he simply wouldn't just give up after one phone call; c'mon this was Pete, after all. Pete didn't stop if you didn't pick up, because Pete took it personally and Pete didn't stop calling, and when I mean didn't, I mean didn't. You could either pick up or develop ear trauma from the dial tones and end up having your eardrum surgically removed by some pompous doctor that didn't exactly have much of a clue as to what the hell he was doing, but just fancied the prestige and the hefty salary.

I opted for picking up; the sensible and stupid option, but then again, with Pete, things were just like that - odd. Pete was generally an odd guy, and it had really taken some oddity for him to continuously persist with his seemingly endless requests and flirtations regarding an episode of Breaking Bad, which left me very much regretting telling him I loved the TV show that pretty much everyone had a box set of. I should have chosen something ambiguous, something that he'd have to trek for several hundred miles across the amazon... website, to simply get a copy of. And then there'd be shipping costs from the actual amazon where it was probably only stocked in one little warehouse where no one spoke English.

"Pete." I sighed, placing the phone on speaker and on my desk beside me, wondering if I could possibly juggle Pete, and Pride and Prejudice at the same time. I very much doubted my ability to do so, but this, of course, wouldn't stop me trying. I’m persistent, yet awfully unsuccessful in my constant attempts. Pete just seemed to beat tiresome literature from God knows how many hundreds of years ago, but then again, who doesn't?

"Mikessss, hello! How are you?" He practically screamed down the line, making me glad I'd insisted upon putting the stupid thing on speaker. He had insisted upon greeting me in a very similar manner every time he'd insisted upon calling me, which over the past few days, had turned out to be a rather frequent occurrence. I knew I should have used Frank's phone; I was planning to, but I wasn't planning for when Gerard had insisted upon breaking it, and I wasn't sure it was actually that accidentally either, which Frank was particularly not pleased about. Coffee and electronics didn't get along, as one may have guessed, but apparently Gerard didn't quite manage that one.

"Pete, you do realise that I've only managed to plough through another fifty pages of this damn book since you've decided I need to be 'checked up upon' every.... what," I paused for a moment, thinking over all the occasions Pete had insisted upon calling me, and instantly regretting that decision as soon as I'd taken it, because just thinking about it put it into perspective, and once it was put into perspective, it simply made my head hurt. "Checking up on me every hour or so." I wasn't even exaggerating, and I'd come to wish I was.

"Well, I do assume you need the extra literary help." I could sense Pete's sarcasm, even though we were speaking through phone lines; this had become one of my apparent talents, and certainly not one I'd requested at that. It was just a little but useful, but what'd be more useful entirely, would be if Pete stopped calling me entirely and I wouldn't even have to worry about filling my head with phone line sarcasm translation as opposed to Pride and Prejudice, and its remaining hundreds of pages I'd yet to tackle - Pete's fault, once again. Okay, maybe it was more entirely mine; I was a stickler for procrastination, and Pete was a perfectly good enough form of procrastination for me.

"Yeah..." I dragged out the syllables carelessly, my eyes scanning over the words, yet refusing to take them in - it was hopeless, and unfortunately rather unproductive, as my life seemed to be turning out these days, and maybe that did just have a little something to do with a certain dirty minded guy who worked at the comic shop. "But, I really do doubt you can summarise the entirety of Pride and Prejudice within the next few minutes, before I get far too tired of you and inevitably hang up."

"You can't just hang up on me, Mikes." I could almost sense the puppy dog eyes and the pout coming on, because really, it was Pete and whatever could he be doing. The image of him pouting to himself, or at his phone for that matter was awfully quite amusing and didn't fail in making me chuckle a little, even if I did look absolutely mental making facial expressions to no one. Of course, there was the fact that Pete could most definitely hear me, and his massive ego would probably assume I was laughing at what he'd said. Maybe I didn't entirely care that much about his ego inflation in that moment in time and was more than happy to let it inflate like a balloon and slowly drift away, carrying him with it, as long as it allowed me to plough through a few more pages of this godforsaken book.

"Watch me." The corners of my lips turned up into a rather devious smirk as my index finger lingered over the hang up button. I did consider it, but Pete wouldn't be all that happy, and maybe, just maybe I did, well a part of me at the very least, desire the human company and the light in the midst of insanity that liked to be called Pete Wentz.

Or maybe it was just the procrastinatory side of my head, but it didn't entirely matter that much as long as I remained satisfied by his more than a little irritating, but welcome nonetheless, company. My short term mind just was happy as long as it was as far away from my copy of Pride and Prejudice as it could possibly be.

"I knew you would." I could hear the irritating sound of his laughter echo into my room and I considered simply throwing my phone against the wall and letting Pete talk to a cushion or whatever else landed upon it; unfortunately, this was not something that was in any way acceptable in real life, and therefore I'd had to experience the entirety of Pete's madness and maybe just pure loneliness in the comic shop, near enough six days ago now. However, I could, in fact, rectify my sanity right in this very moment now, but I was already too addicted to the relentless dirty talk and pathetic jokes, or at least I very much preferred them to the pompous and difficult texts of Pride and Prejudice.

Maybe I could get Pete to read it to me? Nah, he wouldn't be so obliged to do that, and it's not like he'd manage to take it seriously at all, but maybe his insights would be amusing and maybe just a little helpful, well even just a few of them anyway. I'd have to give him some kind of incentive, though - an episode of Breaking Bad? No, I wasn't going quite that far or quite that desperate, at least not yet anyway. I'd struggle through, untouched by Pete Wentz, and overall bored and drained of all motivation.

"I'm considering throwing this phone against the wall, y'know?" I just let myself so casually remind him, just because it entertained me, as did a lot of things regarding Pete, episodes of Breaking Bad aside. He was irritating and more than a little disgusting, but he was funny and kind of cute. It was odd, fucking odd and maybe even just a little bit messed up, but then again, my life generally seemed to follow that tone, so I just should've expected it really, but, Pete, cute? That was a whole new sub-genre of odd entirely.

"Hmm...." He didn't seem particularly offended, thank god, but then again, it was Pete, and it wasn't like I really expected him to be. "There is though, the risk of your phone screen smashing, leaving you unable to call other less annoying people." Pete just really didn't know that, besides Frank, he was the only none family member in my contacts - I suppose Frank didn't really count anymore considering the recent accident involving his phone and Gerard, and there was the fact that soon enough, give it a year or two possibly, that Gerard and Frank would be married, making Frank a member of my family.

Fucking hell, that was kind of weird to think about. I don't know if it was the image of Gerard in a suit and not a t-shirt and sweatpants (jeans if Frank was around) that had been without being washed for several weeks. Or if it was Frank being my brother in law, I mean the dude was great, that'd just be a little unusual. I just hoped Frank would manage to convince Gerard to move out of the basement after their wedding, because I would not want to be the one to hear their bedroom based activities on their wedding night, thank you very much.

"Yeah," I sighed, putting down Pride and Prejudice entirely. This was admitting defeat in the form of Pete Wentz, but for once, maybe I just didn't really care that much. "But that's a risk I'm willing to take if it means you'll finally shut up." I heard his faint laughter over the phone line and I couldn’t deny that it pulled the corners of my mouth up into a small smile, because Pete's laughter was fucking contagious and overall, simply wasn't a force to be reckoned with.

"Harsh." Pete noted. It was, but I didn't exactly care; Pete had most certainly covered 'harsh' topics within his conversations before: harsh topics involving Breaking Bad and condoms. Yes, condoms had been a rather important subject matter recently, strawberry flavour ones in particular. "Hmm... maybe you should throw your phone into Gerard's room, so at the very least I'll have someone to talk to." Even if Gerard was in his room and not Frank's, I doubted he'd very much want to engage in conversation with a slightly pissed and very flirtatious Pete Wentz.

"Nah, he would most definitely break my phone." I most definitely did not want a repeat of Frank's phone incident happening to me, because if I didn't have a phone for Pete to text and call excessively, then I very much suspected that he'd eventually resort to stalking me or something equally as concerning as that. I mean, he knew where I lived from Gerard, so there wasn't much stopping him from practically sitting in our garden all day. In afterthought, this was something I didn’t particularly wish to think about.

"He broke Frank's phone the other day, and regardless of that, he's at Frank's right now. He's probably very preoccupied over there as well." Pete just giggled, knowing far too well as to what I was suggesting. The giggle, though- fuck. He sounded kind of like some 9th grade girl, gossiping relentlessly with her best friend... about her other best friend. But, it wasn't gossiping, because it wasn't at all very far from the truth at all.

"What happened to it? Frank's phone, I mean." I wondered as to what else he could possible imagine that I would have thought he meant. Maybe Frank's dick, perhaps? Yeah, considering Pete, I probably wasn't even that far off at all.

"Coffee stains - apparently mobile phones and liquids don't mix, who would have guessed?" He laughed a little, seemingly just a little sadistically amused with Frank's misfortunes. Pete's sadism was just a little amusing though, especially a previous recount regarding some kid that had bragged about his skating skills and then back flipped over a railing and landed into a lake. Pete was in hysterics and had to end up running away before the aforementioned skater boy kicked his little pansy head in.

But maybe that isn't sadism, perhaps, that's just karma. Who knows? Maybe not even God, if there is a God, I mean. I don't particularly believe in God, but if there's some evidence or major miracle then I wouldn't be sulkily skeptical when it comes to believing in him, like some toffee nosed scientist priding his shiny and daily polished master’s degree. Ah, speaking of college degrees and my hopeless chances regarding getting one- Nah, Pete is far more interesting.

"Ah, I knew it; Gerard and his coffee addiction, huh?" Gerard and his goddamn coffee, though. Like not even Frank, as proven, would get between the two of them. I swear he had a drug level addiction to caffeine, and no one had pressed the matter simply because they're glad he's not addicted to something really dangerous. But really, the amount of coffee he's drinking is actually kind of dangerous, but then again, Gerard seems to come with that attitude that if it hasn't killed him yet, that means it's not worth worrying about. That seems to be an attitude he'll end up taking to his grave.

"Don't joke about that; I'm the one who has to live with the caffeine addict himself." I groaned; the smell of caffeine was pretty much atomically bonded with the walls, floors and every other piece of furniture in this house Gerard has touched, or his coffee spillages. Gerard was awfully good at spilling coffee and even better about getting awfully pissy about it. Like teenage girl level of pissy, but then again, that was Gerard; I swear he was half teenage girl. He was too feminine to be true or heterosexual, but I think we've already pretty much covered that matter.

"Well, I have an empty house and very little to do-" Oh, god. Pete's suggestive ploys and invitations were actually getting rather tiring by now, and there was the fact that no matter how many times I declined whatever the fuck he was offering, each time dirtier than the last, he always seemed to get really disappointed, and when Pete got disappointed, he didn't just get disappointed, he turned into a human puppy, and fuck, if that's not soul crushing, then I don't know what is.

"No." I snapped instantaneously, kind of wishing Pete would just drop it, but another part of me never wanting the fabulous procrastination method on legs, Pete Wentz, to never, ever shut up, not even if the world engaged in nuclear war, because even if that did happen, my professor would somehow still manage to make my grade and this fucking book relevant. I swear once I've read it, I'm burning this fucking book. I don't even care about when she asks for it back; I'll just say I lost it or some shit. Gerard can forge mum's signature as proof, and of course he'll be more than happy to engage in some burning of sappy romantic classics – hey, maybe we’ll even have an entire celebratory bonfire and invite like the four people we know combined.

"No, Pete -unlike you, I do in fact have a book to read, that does in fact contribute to pretty much the entirety of my grade for." I was now, kind of, just in a sadistic way, or maybe a procrastinatory way, getting rather keen on the option of nuclear war. Or maybe I should just stopping being a stupid little prick and lock myself in my room until I finally finish Pride and Prejudice. Considering my efforts, mum would probably even bake a cake for me as reward. Cake's nice; cake's even an incentive-

"Yeah, but who really cares about that nonsense, Mikes?" Pete instantly ruined my productive and cake induced thoughts with his rather apparent disregard for study and conventional learning. Judging by his job and just how content he was with it, (not that I blamed him - comic stores are cool) led me to assume that Pete had never bothered with any further education after high school, and had no current intentions of going to college. Much like Gerard, in fact, who seemed to be doing absolutely great with getting on with that life of his - sarcasm intended.

"My college professor cares, apparently." Well, she'd actually made that just a little bit more than 'apparent'. She practically screamed it at us in a Gordon Ramsey like fashion on a horribly regular basis, but it was never quite as persistent and regular as Pete's relentless and maybe not quite so irritating phone calls.

"How about you just take up assassination and murder her?" Pete rather unhelpfully suggested, but maybe it wasn't all that much of a bad idea after all- okay, yeah, it really was, but it was enticing- and horribly illegal, but enticing nonetheless. At least you get fed in prison... and buttfucked, but let's focus on the positives here.

"Yeah," I sighed, letting out far too much air for my lungs not to panic momentarily as they desperately inhaled more. Fuck, I couldn't even breathe correctly, wow. "That's not entirely the best idea." I noted, just on the off chance that Pete was considering it himself- well, it wasn't exactly so much of an off chance, considering Pete and his newfound sadistic tendencies.

"You're boring." Pete stated, with an apparent lack of politeness and etiquette. I moaned, squinting through my glasses, which were now sliding down to the end of my nose, at Pride and Prejudice. Fuck, it was like the words just simply didn't want to go in. They hovered in my mind momentarily, but were entirely gone by the end of the sentence and I wondered if I'd just have to disregard my professor's advice entirely and sit through the film, ignoring how tediously romantic it'd undoubtedly be, but hey, maybe I could get Gerard to watch it with me. Nah, he wouldn't even last a minute- maybe, I could bribe Pete… or would that lead into something entirely unintended and Breaking Bad esque?

"You're distracting." I counteracted his previous statement, wondering if I should disregard his conversation entirely and get on with something productive, such as my college assignment, maybe? Or would that be too optimistic entirely?

"Don't you dare hang up on me-" Too late; my finger pressed down upon the hang up button, and Pete's voice was suddenly gone from the room, leaving me to rather reluctantly pick up my battered, school edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. Well, hello, Mr Darcy.

-

"Given up already?" I was perched on the edge of the kitchen countertop, sipping piping hot coffee as carefully as I possibly could, because I really wasn't at all that keen when it came to the matter of burning my lips, tongue and entire mouth, when a rather skeptical Gerard strolled in, banging the back door behind him (but not in the same way he banged Frank, of course).

"Yeah, okay maybe I have… but blame Pete." I mumbled into my coffee cup, just assuming Gerard could hear me and not entirely caring all that much if he couldn't, and pulling my gaze away from my sorry excuse for an older brother and continuing to take pleasure in slowly and mildly unintentionally burning my tongue, because even a burnt mouth was better than Pride and Prejudice, not that I was procrastinating again or anything, despite the fact that I totally was, but whatever.

"Oh." A smirk flashed across Gerard's face as he took the liberty of perching next to me on the countertop; I made extra special care not to put my coffee down, even momentarily, as there wasn't a single doubt that he'd make no haste in stealing it, being far too lazy to make himself one for at least another ten minutes. "Pete was distracting you, was he?" And of course he had to take it that way; it was practically his job as an irritating older brother, but of course, that gave me all the rights I wanted in the field of teasing him about Frank and their undoubtedly awfully intimate relationship.

"Shut up." I gave him a brotherly shove, my cheeks tingeing just a little bit pink at his words' suggestive intent, because Pete was just a little bit cute, it was his sexual advances that weren't. He'd needed a new flirting technique, and a part of me even considered teaching him, but I didn't really know if I liked him that much; I'd have to think it over a little, but later, because that was a very good and valid method of procrastination which I could use to ward off Pride and Prejudice for a while longer tonight.

"He totally was, brother dear!" Gerard proclaimed in a terribly queer manner, making me chuckle just a little bit too much and making me spill a little of the coffee, causing the hot liquid to splash against my legs in a rather painful manner. I mumbled a profanity or two, causing Gerard to raise his eyebrows at me, before continuing in his harassment of me regarding a certain Pete Wentz and his awfully suggestive comments.

"Yeah, yeah whatever-" I batted him off, desperately trying to rub hot coffee off of my jeans, and failing rather spectacularly in that matter, and for once finding myself glad, that like all my other items of clothing, they were black, and that the colour brown didn't exactly show up very well on them. See, 'depressing colours' did have their uses, mother.

"You're practically agreeing with me!" Gerard exclaimed, as I came to give up in my attempt at removing the spilt coffee from where it had practically embedded itself in the fabric of my jeans. I rolled my eyes at him, simply wishing he could manage to shut the fuck up for a second, but I guessed that he was Gerard and was therefore generally incapable of anything of the sort.

"No, I'm not - shush." He raised his eyebrows at me, remaining just as skeptical as he was when he walked in, "and shall I just remember what you agreed to regarding Frank.... six days ago now?" His confession was a great, if not slightly cruel, method of blackmail. But cruel was what siblings did best, along with blackmail, of course.

Anyway, it wasn't like he was anywhere near discreet regarding his attraction to Frank. It was about as obvious as the coffee stains on Gerard's clothing, which there were an awful lot of, but then again, he did drink a lot of coffee within a three week period, which was when, I think, he last washed that shirt. There wasn't anything special about it, he was just lazy, and mum was more than fed up with him and his mass amounts of laundry.

He turned a horrible shade of scarlet, as he did just about every time Frank's name appeared in conversation. I truly wondered how Frank had managed not to even notice, like fuck, Gerard was blatantly obviously, and quite painfully in love with him. "We've already covered-" Yes, but not at all in quite enough detail, because I haven't heard all the details regarding their little date today, not that I'd call it a date in front of Gerard, because he was a stubborn little princess, and I wasn't in the mood for him to make a fuss over the exact term I used to describe Frank's and his' little 'bromance'. Because, c'mon, who are we kidding, it was a date.

"Yes, the hallway, yes, Gee." I rolled my eyes at my pathetically love-struck brother before proceeding to sip away at my coffee. His obsession with the hallway had become rather tiresome, and I'm sure he wouldn't quite shut up about how 'totally platonic' his relationship with Frank was, even in the future, when they had been married twenty years. Which will happen, in fact, I'd bet on it. But, not with Gerard, because he'd be stubborn enough to refuse Frank's proposal, just so he could win – he’s a stubborn little shit like that. "So how was your little trip to Frank's today?"

"Good." Did this mean ‘good - we fucked and it was good’, or ‘good - we are good friends’? Neither, yet both, as it would always be with Gerard. "We had pizza and then we talked and-" Yeah, I'm sure they just had pizza, because c'mon how could they eat Italian food without re-enacting that scene from the Lady And The Tramp with the spaghetti, even if it was pizza, which thinking about it, would surely be quite difficult, but Frank's part Italian; I'm sure he could figure it out.

"Talked and then made out?" I finished for him and Gerard just shot me an instant-kill look, but he did in no way deny it, which of course meant that it was true. But then again, was there really any doubt in the first place? "C'mon I know you love him, and that he loves you-" Of course he had to end up cutting me off with yet more bullshit, but we both knew who was right here. I'll give you a clue: it's not Gerard.

"Frank is just my friend, Mikes, jeez." He got up from the countertop and made a beeline towards the kettle; this could only mean one thing - coffee. Frank and Gerard were definitely much more than friends, though, dear lord. The eye-fucking and the tension it was unbearable, like I swear even mum picked up upon it, and she'd prefer Frank over Gerard as her own son, so I really don't think she minded that much at all.

"Does Frank not have coffee at his house?" I inquired as he furiously began preparing the drink in a practically military fashion. I mean he couldn't not have coffee, especially if he was considering a long-term relationship with Gerard, which of course he was, because he was very much in love with him. How could they possibly be so blind to their love for one another, it was painful, even for me, Jesus Christ!

"I'm forcing him to get some." Gerard replied, his eyes never leaving the mug. It was that same black mug he always drank out of; he insisted upon using that same black mug ever since he was fourteen and this dreadful caffeine addiction began. It had gained several chips and cracks over the years, but according to Gerard, it did its job just fine. Why he was so attached to the damn thing, I hadn't a clue, but I thought it best not to ask in order to save myself from god knows what madness he could possibly spurt out at me. Because I swear he had come to love that mug just as much as he loved Frank, and that was more than a little creepy, to be honest.

"What for when you move in with him?" Gerard simply chuckled, as if the idea was utterly preposterous, but from the look on Frank's face whenever the two made eye contact told me that the aforementioned preposterous idea, was in fact, completely plausible, and in fact, had a greater chance of happening than me passing this English course, especially considering Pete's constant interruptions and general inadequacies when it came to English. In fact, I think he was worse than me, but I still haven't seen this poetry of his, so you could never tell.

"Mikes, we both know that I'm not going to leave that basement until the day I die." Mum was also certainly well aware of that fact, and it wasn't one she was particularly fond of, neither was I for that matter, because you could hear every fucking sound that was made by or came from that bed downstairs when you were in the kitchen or living room, which definitely wasn't a very nice thing to listen to, especially when Frank was around, because then the noises only got louder, and more… vigorous.

"True." I paused for a moment, wondering about whether what I'd say next would offend him or not, but fuck- he's Gee, he's my brother; I can say anything to him and he'll just ruffle my fucking hair and call me cute, "do you think you'd even have your funeral in there?" Ok maybe this didn't quite grant hair ruffling, but Gerard wasn't offended, more of perplexed. "Not that I want you to die, of course." He grinned at me; this time I got the hair ruffle.

"Of course you don't, Mikes. What would you do without me?" Drink coffee in peace? Be able to sleep at 4am, because you wouldn't be blasting Metallica? I didn't say any of these, because maybe that was just pushing it a little. "Mum wouldn't be all that keen on the basement funeral, though, considering the smell and all, but maybe, why not?" He poured the boiling water into the mug and grabbed it before joining me on the edge of the counter top once again.

"Could we even fit a funeral into that basement? Not that I'm ever allowed there long enough to have any idea of the dimensions," I gave him a glare, one he easily ignored, because both of us knew that I wasn't exactly as keen as Gerard on spending prolonged amounts of times in darkened underground rooms. "I presume it's pretty small, though."

"Mikes, it's not like my funeral would be the main attraction of Jersey. There'd be about four people there – with myself included." Gerard's lack of self-appreciation was annoying at times, because he didn't seem to ever quite understand just as how he'd always be my big brother and how much he'd always and forever matter, and that no one, not even Pete, (not that Pete was even anywhere near close) could replace him.

"Nah," I shook my head; my funeral would be the one with four people, because I'm truly the one with an abysmal lack of friends, and two family members I see on a regular basis, but then again, funerals do have this knack for pulling relatives you didn't even know existed out of nowhere and presenting their mostly likely terribly irritating existence to you. "There'd be me and mum, and dad-"

"Dad wouldn't care." Yeah, I shouldn't have brought up Dad, because Dad didn't care and that was really quite clear, seeing as he cared so much as to move to Australia with a new age hippie called Maisie-Rae who wore flower crowns like they were her burka and barely looked over seventeen. I think their relationship was illegal in most places, but in Australia people didn't tend to care awfully that much – I think they were more concerned with the venomous spiders and shit that just loved to nest in their shoes. I just hoped the both of them got eaten alive by an alligator, or whatever the hell else they had in the regards of carnivorous wildlife down under, but from what I've heard, there's certainly no lack of it.

"There'd be Frank, though, and Pete." I paused momentarily, astonished at my complete lack of knowledge regarding Gerard's peer group, not that he had much of one in the first place, but I was trying to prove a point here. Then again, Gerard did seem to change peer groups every few years and not really out of choice either. It wasn't his fault; people turned out to be shit people, I guess. "And Ray with the 'fro." I added, remembering Pete’s mentioning of their mutual friend.

"That's five people." Gerard reminded me of the fact that he could count. "Okay, six including myself, but hardly much of a funeral." I desperately tried to rack my brains for someone else that Gerard was once even vaguely acquainted with, simply trying to prove a point in the typical stubborn Way manner.

"Bert McCracken!" I proclaimed, almost too excitedly, and then I came to realise exactly whose name I'd said. Fuck. Bert was bad news. Bert was long gone. But Bert was always in Gerard's head; he'd left a mark and it was still there even now. I could barely even look at Gerard, considering the mistake I'd just made, because it wasn't just a mistake, it was one hell of a massive fucking colossal, brain wrecking mistake.

Gerard just shook his head, his eyes again away from mine, "the kid that sold me weed once in 11th grade? Yeah, I doubt he even knows who I am anymore, and considering how much he was smoking a day, I should be the one attending his funeral by now..." Gerard's voice dwindled off slowly towards the end of his sentence before it came to a stop entirely, and that's when I knew that all the memories were slowly coming back to Gerard, and if that wasn't bad news then I didn't know what was.

"Gee, fuck, I'm sorry-" I tried to patch things up, but the wound had already spilt upon, the blood flowing like a waterfall with no apparent hope of stopping. I'd fucked things up this time, like really.

"I thought we agreed that we weren't going to talk about this?" His voice turned up into a snarl, and I found myself subconsciously shuffling away from Gerard, I felt guilty instantly, but really Gerard hadn't been this angry, ever. Not even when I turned his Misfits t-shirt pink in an unfortunate washing machine incident; I think this is why he's refrained from washing his shirts since, but even then he wasn't nearly that angry - he was just pissed; now he was furious.

Bert had been Gerard's Frank from eight years ago, except things hadn't exactly gone quite as well as things with Frank would, or at least I hoped they would. Bert was a bad guy, like a really fucking bad guy, and he'd fucked Gerard up completely. It was eight years ago, but the pain was still there, and now I'd caused it to resurface within a few misplaced words with little regard for painful memories that I'd almost forgotten where there.

"You're the one that brought it up." Actually, it was kind of me that'd brought Bert up, but... I was just far too narcissistic for my own good sometimes. I was kind of scared of Gerard and the current state he was in and I was desperately trying to pawn the blame off of myself and onto... him. Yeah, that didn't exactly work.

"Yeah, that's not exactly true, is it?" Gerard snapped again at me. I was just praying he'd calm down, because I couldn't even call Frank now to sort things out with his now broken mobile phone. Frank could just calm Gerard down in an instant, I think it was something to do with the fact that they were meant for each other, but they just claimed that Frank was good at comforting and that kind of shit. Which admittedly, he probably was, but I liked to think that their attraction to one another played a part, even if it was a small one.

"Sorry." It was my fault; there was no doubt about that. I pleaded into his hazel eyes and practically found myself silently praying for an apology.

"It's okay, Mikes," he snapped back into reality, ruffling my hair, to tell me that everything was just fine and then I didn't even care about the mess my hair was currently in, because Gerard was okay and that was what mattered. "I just don't like thinking about him and how he fucked me up." That was more than understandable: none of us liked thinking about seventeen year old Gerard either, because seventeen year old Gerard was a wreck and an addict and seventeen year old Gerard didn't have a Frank to entice him out of his basement every once in a while.

"I know, Gerard. I shouldn't have mentioned him; it's fine."

Gerard had been quite head over heels for Bert, but he never would admit the truth, of course and even now he still insisted that there were no feelings between either of them. Bert however, didn't like Gerard, and Gerard found that he was more desperate to get Bert to fall in love with him and even ended up buying drugs from him and doing them with Bert and his friends to look cooler. Bert's friends were even bigger assholes than Bert and they disliked Gerard even more than Bert did.

He got majorly fucked up, and I wasn't exactly very sure as to what had happened intimately between them, but Gerard ended up walking around like his ass ached for days on end, so I was led assume there had been some degrees of intimacy, and I didn't see them often, but whenever Gerard's shirt pulled up or a piece of his torso was somehow exposed, you were met with thousands of bruises. It took a hell of a lot of support from mum for him to stop with the drugs, and once he graduated he didn't see Bert anymore so everything gradually came to a halt after that. I was content with the fact that Gerard was okay, even if I'd never quite know exactly what happened between the two of them. I was just glad that he met Frank a few years later, and that he met Frank before he met another Bert.

We sat in silence, sipping our coffees for a good few minutes, before Gerard ended up turning to me, "Mikes, can I tell you something?" My eyes widened, wondering if he was going to tell me something very important regarding a certain Mr Bert McCracken, because there was a hell of a lot regarding Bert that I didn't know, and even more of a hell of a lot regarding Bert that I wanted to know, but of course found it utterly inappropriate to ask, because well, the fucking state Gerard had previously been in.

"Yeah, Gee. Of course you can." I looked at him with wide, open, honest eyes. Eyes that were trustworthy and eyes that were ready for whatever combination of syllables could possibly from any combination of words that could possibly leave his mouth in one mildly dysfunctional sentence.

"Well, this is very important and very secret-"

He was cut off by the sound of the back door swinging open and our mother stumbling through it, carrying far too much shopping for a family of three that mainly survived of off caffeine based drinks alone. Our mother was probably the definition of dysfunctional herself, because really ever since Dad left, none of us had really been quite the same ever since, but part of me thinks- part of me knows, that really, it's a change for the better, because we're dysfunctional people, we're meant to be a dysfunctional family.

"Boys, I'm home." She called out into the house, before she noticed that we were both sat a few metres away from her. It almost amused me as to how shocked she looked, but really I didn't blame her; Gerard was always in the basement or at Frank's, and I was far too preoccupied with a certain English course I was bound to fail. "It's nice to actually see your faces for once." She threw the shopping down, and turned around to lock the door, leaving me to glance at Gerard and wonder if the secret he was intent upon telling me was anywhere but forgotten now.

I glanced at Gerard impatiently, but clearly he had no intention of continuing with what he was previously intent upon saying, especially with mum here. So, I decided it best to drop, appreciating that he probably wouldn't appreciate me mentioning it, especially with mum here, especially since it seemed to regard Bert just a little, and he really did not like talking about Bert to mum.

"Mikey, can you help with unpacking?" I sighed, placing my near enough empty mug down next to Gerard - a mistake already - it would be an entirely empty mug when I came back, for sure, and grabbed the nearest bag of shopping, shovelling tins of tuna into a cupboard in the most enthusiastic manner I could muster, but there was really nothing awfully exciting regarding preserved fish, so my attempts were pretty much anything but fruitful.

"How come you didn't ask me? Am I somehow incapable to tidying away groceries?" Gerard's voice piped up. Why he even put this point across I had no idea, because if she'd asked him, he most certainly would not help at all. Gerard was the definition of lazy. If you asked him for a dictionary to look up the word 'lazy', he wouldn't give you one, because he's that lazy.

"No, honey, you’re not incapable." Mum placed the remainder of the shopping bags upon the countertop I had previously been sat on. "You're drinking coffee and I clearly have no chance of getting you to do anything for the next few hours now, but I'm more than content with the fact that you haven't locked yourself away down in the basement." That makes two of us, and I'm awfully glad he hasn't locked Frank down there with him, because then I really do have the right to complain.

"Excuse me? Are you saying I spend too much time down there?" Gerard was only half offended, because it was true, and he knew that himself, I'm just not sure he was awfully keen upon admitting it, because really, he kind of thrived down there, doing things I don't particularly want to think about, and messaging Frank until early hours of the morning.

"Yes." I piped up, shovelling far too many cartons of juice into the fridge; cartons of juice we'd never drink of course. Because, juice had zero percent coffee content, and that was not enough for Gerard; I swear he didn't even drink water anymore, just coffee. It was kind of worrying, but compared to the three week old t-shirts, it was pretty much nothing. There was a whole array of things more important to worry about regarding Gerard, that all were more important than his worryingly heavy caffeine intake.

"I just came back from Frank's, thank you very much." Gerard turned his nose up at us in a joking manner, giggling a little at his own reflection in the reflective surface of the fridge that mum had spent far too much money on, but apparently you need to check your appearance whilst making food- oh, it was just the fact that Gerard always waited for Frank in the kitchen, of course.

"I'm glad you've got Frank, honey." Mum smiled at him, waggling her eyebrows just a little suggestively, and in a terribly un-maternal manner, but then again, dysfunctional, odd, we were the Ways. We had our own way. Terrible pun intended as always. Terrible puns were another one of mum's habits, but Frank always seemed to laugh at them, even if the laughter was painfully forced, so she instantly approved of him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gerard snapped, clearly knowing her words' precise intent, as we all did, but in order to keep to his platonic love bullshit, he couldn't jump to conclusions, of course. We all knew what conclusion he wanted to jump to though; that conclusion being Frank's bed, but I'm sure he already makes regular visits.

"I'm not blind, dear." Gerard had to get his sass from somewhere, and apparently I hadn't inherited the apparently genetic sass gene that Gerard had, which was an awful shame really, because he was a devious little sass queen, and a very queer one at that.

"Ha!" I smirked, leaning back against the fridge after throwing the empty plastic bags in the bin, watching Gerard express his concept of platonic love to mum would be certainly rather entertaining, especially with the fact that she was more than happy with Gerard marrying Frank; in fact, she practically encourages it. Excepting she's just not quite as good as subtlety as she'd hope, and therefore Gerard can manage to pass her awkward comments off to Frank as 'mum talk', which he's all too eager to accept for someone that's terribly in love with him.

"For fuck's sake, we're just friends-" Oh god, here we go again! Should I grab the popcorn or would that be just a little bit too indiscrete? Maybe I’ll have to think about that one, not that we have any popcorn, anyway, so it's not like I can actually initiate some sort of mini-cinema in here, not that I was really that keen on the idea in the first place, I just seem to get awfully carried away sometimes, and apparently, this is one of those times.

"Language, Gerard!" Mum really should just give up on nagging him about that, because there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to stop. He'd quite happily pull out the 'f bomb' in front of two year olds, permanently imprinting into their vocabulary, much to their parents’ dismay; I think Frank would have to teach their kids to talk to be honest.

Feeling a vibration in the pocket of my jeans, I pulled out my phone, just a little irritated, but maybe a little bit more relieved to see a text from Pete. Really who else was it going to be from, though? It wasn't as if I was the centre of attention, was I?

Hey Mikey. I’m watching breaking bad ;) x

I couldn't help but blush a little, instantly knowing his true intentions with that text. Pete was in a blowjob mood- scrap that, Pete was always in a blowjob mood; the problem for him was that I most certainly wasn't. I just wasn't quite that gay, at least not yet anyway. Sexuality was kind of a grey area for me; I hadn't quite figured out as to what the hell I was attracted to. I mean, Pete was hot, but so was Sarah from college, who I hadn't quite grown the balls to speak to yet, and then again there was this blatantly homosexual kid with eyeliner game stronger than Gerard’s. I doubted that I ever would figure out just who the hell I was attracted to, and Pete had made me quite content in that fact.

"Is that Pete?" Gerard asked. His eyes were fixated upon the phone screen that was clearly turned away from him. I did not want Gerard seeing our conversations, and that was for certain, because oh my god, I'd never hear the end of it - from both Pete and Gerard, and quite possibly Frank. Maybe even Ray with the 'fro if I ever met him; I kind of did want to, because well, he sounded like a cool guy, you know.

I nodded in response to Gerard's question, and ignoring the intense eyebrow waggling as I began tapping out a reply.

Hey Pete you’re not going to give me a blowjob whatever you say x

"Who's Pete?" Mum's voice entered the conversation. Shit. I glared at Gerard, sending him the most intimidating look I could muster, because Gerard was not going to fuck this up for me; mum did not need to know Gerard's opinion upon my 'relationship' with Pete, not at all.

"My friend, Pete’s my friend." I replied, my eyes never leaving Gerard's, the subliminal 'if you fucking say a fucking word' messages never stopping, until mum decided to leave her helpful and rather unexpected input.

"Oh don't you start." Gerard burst into a fit of laughter, the eye contact instantly broken, the subliminal messages gone. And mum was now definitely stuck in the mind-set that Pete was my Frank; which he was not, not nearly, not quite, not now anyway.

"What-" I began, cut off by the vibration of my phone, which was both a great and terrible thing at the same time: A) I didn't have to come up with some sort of witty comeback to rival what Gerard would undoubtedly throw in my direction next; B) It was Pete.

How about you give me 1 then? X

Jesus fucking Christ, I sighed aloud, Gerard smirking at me. I was right about condition B. And Gerard had the fucking 'I told you so' gaze on that I'd come to hate with all of my being over the past decade; Gerard was a little prick and he wasn't at all discreet about it, because well he was Gerard, and he needn't be - he was already flamboyant enough.

"Keep your moaning for the bedroom, Mikes." He winked a little too suggestively at me, and oh my god. Had he really just said that, in front of mum as well? Fuck, Gerard had no boundaries; this made me sort of glad he didn't engage with the rest of society on a regular basis, and confided himself in that basement, even if it was terribly anti-social and not at all healthy, at least he wasn't getting accidentally arrested on a regular basis, for simply being his arrogant little princess self.

"Gerard-" Mum tried, but really, she wasn't getting a word into this one; this was a good, old, long and pointless brotherly argument. The kind that we'd have when I was six and Gerard was eleven, except things were a lot more even now, if not slightly out-dated, but whatever - Gerard would always be my annoying older brother - that was not going to change.

"No, and are you just jealous because you broke Frank's phone and now you have no one to show pictures of your di- oh wait, you have the hallway." I grinned to myself, rather proud at my Gerard sassing, before replying Pete's relentless flirting attempts. Pete didn't exactly have the best of flirting tactics. Pete was more of a 'let me stick my love stick in you' kind of guy as opposed to the profound love ballads of Shakespeare kind of guy (who the fuck calls it a love stick, oh my god). The latter of the two would be undoubtedly twice as annoying, yet much more capable in assisting me with passing this English course in one form or another. Pete was as useless as I first assumed when it came to Jane Austen, but then again, I'd never met a guy that was a Jane Austen fan.

No. i will not.

I tapped out; it was a little harsh, but entirely necessary, especially when dealing with Pete Wentz, because if I hadn't been harsh, he would have gotten that Breaking Bad episode when we first met, over a week ago, and that was not a desirable consequence, not at all.

:( Xoxo

"Shut up about the goddamn hallway!" Gerard yelled, storming out and presumably heading back down to the basement, because where the hell else would he possibly go? Frank's house, yeah, but unless he'd dug out a tunnel from the basement to Frank's, I doubted that he was going in anywhere near the right direction at all. Then again, the tunnel idea didn't exactly seem quite so preposterous when you considered it- yeah, maybe, I should stop considering it.

"I will when you grow the balls to tell Frank you love him!" I yelled back, smirking to myself as I dealt with a disappointed and awfully suggestive Pete Wentz. Why couldn't there have been a civilised human working in that shop when I went in I don't even know, but I'm going to blame Gerard, maybe just because I can, and maybe just because I'm mean.

I’m sorry but no blowjobs x

Mum leaned against the fridge beside me and instantly turned my phone screen off; I wasn't exactly keen for her to see my discussion with Pete, especially when it was regarding a matter such as this. And the 'x's on the end, that Pete had initiated and I felt rude to not go along with, were certainly of a questionable nature, but then again, as was pretty much everything regarding Pete Wentz.

"Tell me about this Pete then." She grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes; I was simply just glad she hadn't questioned me about why I'd so quickly switched the screen off. I was wondering where the hell I could possibly start, because with Pete there was no family friendly, fuck, there was barely even any PG-13.

I couldn't start with, 'oh this is Pete, he wants to suck me off whilst we watch Breaking Bad.' Or, 'this is Pete he's a gay man that doesn't believe in commitment but also obsessively texts me every hour.' Or how about, 'this is the reason I'm going to fail English, but you can call him Pete Wentz.' I liked the last one; it had a certain kind of sass to it.

"Like I said, he's a friend." She didn't believe me, but then again with the amount of Gerard's bullshit regarding 'friends', I couldn't exactly blame her, could I? "Seriously, if you want relationship gossip, go ask about Frank." She wouldn't go away that easily, of course, but it was worth a try- well maybe it wasn't, but it made me feel just a little bit better about myself.

"I don't want relationship gossip, I want to know that you're okay; I've met Frank - he's a nice boy." Mum had been very approving of Frank; he'd been almost uncharacteristically polite to her, but I think he wanted to make a good impression if he wanted to have any hope with anything long term with Gerard. She'd even liked him enough to avoid pulling an annoyed face when he mentioned that he was vegetarian - a fact that reminded mum far too much of Maisie-Rae and dad's love affair. I just hoped Frank didn't get eaten by alligators, and not just for Gerard’s sake.

"Pete's a good guy, don't worry." I smiled at her; she was just being careful, and I didn't blame her considering what had happened with Bert, even if it was eight years ago now. She was just making sure that Pete wasn't my Bert, but he wasn't my Frank either, because I wasn't just a Gerard, I was Mikey and Pete would be my Pete and that would be that. Whatever being my Pete would entail, I hadn’t a clue.

"You should invite him over." She suggested, far too casually for such an atrocious idea, because I really doubted that Pete'd go down quite as well as Frank had.

"Nah, I only met him like a week ago - it'd be weird." The truth was that I doubted Pete would try anywhere near as hard as Frank did to make a good impression upon my mother. Pete would need classes and extensive training and emergency briefing, maybe even PowerPoint slides with labelled diagrams, and fuck, anything to keep my mind off of Pride and Prejudice.

"Okay, as long as I get to meet him soon." She ruffled my hair affectionately, in a rather similar manner to the way Gerard did, but it wasn't quite the same; she was more affectionate, more careful... Gerard was more Gerard.

I nodded, despite how opposed I remained to the idea, and really it was for her own good; Pete might accidentally ask her to suck him off or something - that certainly would not go down well at all, not one bit. "Mum, Pete's fine; Gerard knows him." I tried as one desperate last attempt, but she was more than set upon meeting him, so really whatever I said was no use.

"I still want to meet him, Mikes; Gerard isn't exactly the wisest when it comes to choosing friends."

-

I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing far too loudly, with my face pressed between pages 106 and 107 of Pride and Prejudice. I'd attempted to read some more last night, but clearly after the amount of dinner I'd even, I'd fallen asleep a few pages in, and after Facebook messaging Frank far too suggestive hints regarding Gerard's massive crush on him, these were still hints he didn’t pick up on, of course. This was something I probably shouldn't have done, but whatever, it was for the best. Maybe I was just a little too eager for Gerard to move out of the basement, but whatever.

I groaned, rummaging around my sheets for my phone, eventually grabbing the goddamn thing, picking it up and placing it to my ear before I had the chance to check the caller I.D. This would of course turn out to be a foolish decision, as things always do, but whatever. I was far too tired to particularly care that much.

"Well if it isn’t Mikeeyy Way!" Oh dear lord. I put it on speaker and place the phone on my bedside table, proceeding to plant my face back firmly between the two aforementioned pages of Pride and Prejudice. Accepting a call from Pete Wentz certainly wasn't the brightest of ideas; if I'd ever had a particularly bright one that is.

"Pete, what the fuck are you doing calling me- like fuck, I don't even know what time it is, but I was asleep, goddamn." I moaned into Pride and Prejudice, my voice so muffled that I doubted Pete could hear me - unfortunately, he could. Pete had rather precise hearing; this was a fact I'd come to notice with the excess of phone calls that he'd been practically bombarding me with.

"The time is 8:24am, Mikey." Pete oh so helpfully informed me. Anything before 10am was far too early as a general rule. Mum didn't particularly agree with the apparent allergic reactions towards any sign of sunlight before midday that both Gerard and I seemed to share.

"Precisely - it's far, far too early."

"Yeah, so anyway come round to mine today?" No warning at all, he just sprung the question up on me; another casual characteristic of Pete Wentz. Pete was like a time bomb, ticking and more than ready to fucking explode. Not that explosion was always a bad thing, especially not in his case.

"No, not at 8:30 in the morning, and not ever will I ever." That was one of the rules to live by, because I think maybe Pete was just trying to catch me tired enough to fall for some stupid ploy of his to get an ‘early morning shag’. Not that I was at all that opposed to the aforementioned idea, especially if it gave me a valid distraction from Pride and Prejudice.

"I know where you live, you know." Fuck, he did. And knowing Pete, he would not hesitate upon coming round at 8:30 in the morning, even if I was half naked, and Gerard would let him in, despite knowing the aforementioned fact very well, simply because Gerard was a major asshole and of course he very much enjoyed that fact.

"Yeah, but I'm not going to let you in." I reminded him.

"Gerard will." Gerard probably would to be honest, seeing as he's such a loyal brother of mine. I was just counting on the fact he wouldn't awaken for another few hours yet, but considering my luck, he was probably already more than wide fucking awake.

"Gerard won't be awake for at least another seven hours." I wasn't exaggerating; Gerard didn't wake up until after lunch and that was on good days- unless Frank was involved, then he was perfectly happy to be wide awake at the crack of dawn of course. Frank came for the early morning shags, as Pete was trying to by the looks of things.

"Fine, I'll bring a ladder and climb in through your window and kidnap you." Yeah, that didn't sound mildly illegal at all now did it?

"I'll lock my window."

"I'll bring a lock pick."

"I hope you fall off that goddamn ladder!" I exclaimed, only meaning it slightly, because a dead guy on my lawn would look awfully suspicious, especially outside my window, but Gerard watched an awful lot of CSI, so he could probably help with body clean up if I managed to drag him out of bed. I think the words 'murder' and 'blood' might just excite him enough to motivate him though, and if that fails, I'll just have to bring Frank along as a bribe.

"Love you too." He remarked, before hanging up and leaving me to bury my face between the pages of Pride and Prejudice.

-

I’m outside your house x

I peered out through the curtain - fuck, he was. Not that I ever did doubt Pete's words when he said he come up to my house, because fuck - that guy had balls.

Frantically, I pulled on a clean shirt, deciding that these jeans were perfectly fine to wear again, pulling a beanie over my untamed hair and pushing my glasses back up my nose. I decided against going out to see Pete whilst half-naked, despite the fact he would most definitely more than enjoy that.

I looked in the mirror; I looked like shit, but slightly less shitty than I had before. It's only Pete; he seems content on giving me a blowjob regardless of my state of appearance, so it'll most definitely do. Not that I wanted a blowjob, of course. But it was nice to have the extra, if not a little concerning self-confidence boost.

Racing down the stairs, I noticed Gerard sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee. I almost did a double take, checking my watch - 9:03am. What kind of shit was going on?

"What the hell are you doing up?" I asked him, slightly concerned regarding his intentions, because if there was one thing that screamed 'not Gerard', it was early morning wake ups, which in turn led me onto the rather ridiculous suspicion that Gerard may have been kidnapped, and it was in fact a murderer wearing his skin sat at my table, or more likely; not a murderer, but Pete – I didn’t know which was worse.

"Frank will be here in an hour." Oh, of course, Frank. I nodded and winked suggestively at him. "Pete's outside, by the way." He nodded and winked suggestively at me. I had gathered this by now, if not just by the texting, but the excessive and somewhat creepy waving; he looked about five, but that didn't diminish the terribly amusing factor in any way, shape or form.

"I'm well aware, thank you." I said, unlocking the front door, readying myself, both mentally, and with a coat, for the wrath of the outside world.

"Don't have too much se-" He didn't even need to add the 'x' on the end for me to instantly know what he was talking about; it was Gerard, he was dirty minded as hell.

"We won't have any." I reminded him, in a rather stern fucking tone of voice.

"It's Pete." He reminded me, and seriously he had a point. I just rolled my eyes, ignoring his point and locking the door behind him, only to be practically tackled to the ground by an over excited puppy that liked to call himself Pete Wentz. And sometimes went by the persona of a five year old little kid.

"Dude, cool it!" I called out, pulling him off of me; which judging by Pete's standards and general lack of knowledge regarding decency was a hard thing to accomplish. "Personal space, does it mean anything to you?" Again, another concept Pete entirely failed to grasp, but it was just what made Pete himself, so fuck it, you know.

"Breaking Bad?" He winked at me - oh god, not again, but no matter how many times I fucking refused, Pete just wouldn't back down, would he? And I think maybe that that's one of the best things about Pete. Then again, there isn't exactly an awful lot of competition with such an odd guy like him. To be honest, I don't even think odd was the right word, he's Pete, and that's all, my Pete- no, not my Pete, not at all.

"No. No. No. No-" He made no hesitance in cutting me off, of course, because Pete didn't take disagreement from anyone.

"Yes?" Haha, in your dreams, Pete- thinking about that... yeah, he probably does dream about the kind of thing... oh god. Now there's a thought I wish wouldn't have popped into my mind as lovingly as Pete happened to pop into my life. Well, to be honest, I think there was more than a little nudging on Gerard's part - not that I particularly minded that much, because Pete was a perfect enough distraction from the tiresome and undoubtedly tediously dull pages of Pride and Prejudice.

"Fuck off." I rolled my eyes, wishing that I'd never woken up to that phone call, but this did give me an awfully good excuse not to plough through another fifty pages of Pride and Prejudice, so every cloud had its silver lining, I guess. Or maybe that was just what I had to say to keep some degree of sanity when talking to Pete.

"C'mon." He grabbed me by the hand and refused to let go of it through it the entirety of the five minute walk to his house, just because he was Pete, and just because he can.

-

"Since when did you live so close to me?" I asked, looking up at the house he was now unlocking, on a street that was only a few minutes’ walk away from mine. Thankfully, he'd had to let go of my hand to unlock the door, so my hand was free, if only momentarily.

"Dude, I've lived here years." The door swung open and he pulled me inside. I was beginning to wonder if Pete had brought this fucking house with no other intentions than to stalk me excessively, or was that just a bit narcissistic?

His house opened up to an open plan living room with stairs leading upstairs in the far corner and a door that lead to what I presumed to be the bathroom behind them. It had a modern theme, which was an awful change to our mismatched, dysfunctional house, which held an array of both modern furnishings and pieces that were older than the house itself.

"You have a nice house." I filled the silence with an awkward remark as he locked the door behind us; no chance of my escape then. Fuck, I just have to keep him away from all Breaking Bad box sets and I'll be fine, but knowing Pete he'd probably already pre-prepared one in each room.

"You have a nice house too, well from what I've seen from the outside." He paused for a moment, winking at me in a way that made me instantly suspicious. "I'd love to see the interior, though... your bedroom in particular." Oh god. Yup, this was definitely Pete, and I hadn't just been kidnapped. Thinking it about it, maybe a kidnapping would be better if Pete would so religiously insist upon his suggestive advances, especially ones regarding Breaking Bad.

"For the final time, Pete, we are not having se-" I could try, but of course, he would never quite let me succeed, would he?

"Yes, yes, I know. How about we make out instead?" Oh my god. But maybe making out with someone like Pete wouldn't exactly be all such a bad idea- no, it would, because he was Pete, and of course he'd try and turn it into something more.

Jesus fucking Christ – this guy was downright impossible. "How about I leave?" It was just a little harsh, but maybe he deserved it, just a little.

"I locked the door." Shit he did. Pete was an awfully good kidnapper, especially when I thought about it... not that I particularly wanted to.

"This is beginning to look an awful lot like kidnap, you know?" I just thought I might as well throw a remark as casual as that into conversation, because well, it was Pete, and why not.

"How about I kidnap you into my bedroom then?" I was close to slapping him straight across the face, but maybe if he just shut up about Breaking Bad I'd be more obliged.

"How about I ring emergency services?" I waved my phone at him just to let him know I was maybe, mildly serious. Okay, I really wasn't and we both knew that, but I wasn't going to stop in the name of the blatant truth.

"Nah, you wouldn't."

"What makes you so sure?" I raised my eyebrows, but really the truth was rather awfully obvious, and I was nowhere near quite as sassy as Gerard.

"I have coffee; I know how much you Ways are addicted to that shit." He grabbed me by the hand, leading me into his kitchen and switching the kettle on. "Come have coffee." Okay, coffee was good, and maybe this whole 'kidnap' ordeal wasn't quite so bad after all.

"Please don't drug it." I leaned against the kitchen table, watching as he busied himself with the kettle. I doubted my words would influence him in anyway whatsoever.

"You know me too well, Mr Way." Oh my god, what even was he? "But since you asked so nicely, I'll miss out the sedatives." Sedatives, Jesus fucking Christ!

"Fucking hell, what even are you?" I muttered at a tone I hoped wasn't quite loud enough for Pete to hear.

"I can hear you, Mikey." He turned around to wink at me, just a little suggestively. "Don't worry, I'm kidding." He paused, "Or am I?" He winked at me again, and I think I just mentally face-planted into about every single object in the room.

"Fuck off, oh my god!" Pete was damn well just fucking ridiculous.

"Do you want this coffee or not?" He asked, waving my mug in the air, trying not to spill the entirety of the coffee out of it and not doing a particularly good job.

"Yes." I snapped, and he slid it across the counter top at me; the both of us choosing to ignore the large amount of coffee he'd spilt, because neither of us could be really that bothered, and apparently we both chose to live by the logic that if you ignored a problem, it simply wasn't there. This was an awfully flawed state of logic, but neither of us particularly cared.

He watched me with narrowed eyes as I eyed my coffee warily, but really, could he exactly blame me? "Take a sip." I furrowed my brows at him, but obliged regardless, "good, now come into the living room with me. Let me find my Breaking Bad box set-"

"Pete-" There was no point even trying to stop that guy anymore.

"Don't worry, Mikes. I'm joking." He smirked at me, and the problem was that I couldn't entirely know if he was kidding or not, especially not anymore. Heck, maybe even Pete didn't exactly know as to whether he was kidding or not, but that would make matters entirely more complicated.

-

His living room was nice and apparently redundant of Breaking Bad box sets, which of course made it infinitely better. We were leant against the bottom of the sofa, Pete fiddling with a record player whilst I sipped coffee that was probably more illegal than Pete's internet history as I gazed absently mindedly out of the window. The view from Pete's window was calming, but then again anything was calming compared to Pete.

"Is Nirvana good?" He gestured towards his vinyl edition of Nevermind and I simply nodded, letting him set it up as I downed the rest of my drug infested coffee; he was probably already pumping hallucinogenic gases through the air conditioning at this very moment, so it didn't exactly matter that much anymore.

‘Smells like Teen Spirit’ flooded my ears on an abnormally loud volume, "are you trying to deafen me?" I asked, just a little impolitely, but this was Pete - there was no such thing as impolite, and my ears were already hurting like hell- fuck.

"No, we need it on this loud, like seriously there are builders outside doing some shed shit, like they'll start drilling a hole to Japan within the next few minutes, promise you." He looked at me with a deadly serious gaze, but I was still utterly convinced that he was trying to kidnap me and tie me to his bed or some other form of absurd shit.

"Sure." I nodded, still convinced he was simply trying to deafen me and then the drills started- fuck. I covered my ears, whining a little. What the hell were they doing to this shed that required so many drills, I hadn't a clue.

"Told you – I wasn’t lying." Well, that seems to be a first. He smirked as he turned up Nirvana.

"That's not going to help-" Surely more volume overall would surely deafen me further?

"Shut up, you'll get used to it." He smirked at me and I put my empty coffee cup down, leaning back as I waited for the sedatives to take effect. At least once I was passed out I couldn't hear all this noise... or at least I hoped not, because I wasn't keen on initiating some trippy as dream sequence or some shit.

"Why do you need an entire construction crew to build a fucking shed?" Was he really that lazy? Oh wait, it was Pete. I began to think Gerard's laziness had somehow rubbed off upon him, but no; Gerard wouldn't even be bothered to hire the crew to fix the shed.

"I hired a construction crew, cos it's hell on the engine." He shrugged it off, as if he hadn't just spoken in an entirely pompous and awfully cryptic manner. That's Pete for you though, I guess.

"You're lazy, basically?" I gathered after a few long seconds.

"That's one way to put it." He grinned at me like the stupidly adorable prat he was. "I thought you said Gerard wouldn't be up for another seven hours, and yet I saw him in your kitchen? Are you trying to ward me off, because it's not working, Mikes?" Maybe I should find some anti-Pete symbol and get it tattooed onto my skin or something, but I doubted that even that would be effective against someone quite as persistent as Pete.

"Clearly not, seeing as I'm sat in your house, drinking something that's probably about as full of drugs as 10th grader's backpack." He chuckled a little, maybe just because it was true, or maybe because he liked that I thought it was - I hadn't a clue in the world, and I imagined that with Pete's stubbornness it would stay that way. "But, I didn't expect him to be up. He's only up because Frank's coming over today."

"Ah, Frank, yes, of course." Pete grinned, choosing to make no comment regarding the contents of the coffee for a reason I could pretty easily guess. "Those two need to get together; they're like soul mates, or some shit." Pete and I could definitely agree on that one, and then again, so could the rest of the human population.

"I know, but considering Gerard's stubbornness, and the fact he never leaves that basement." I sighed, accepting what neither of us wanted to be the truth, "It doesn't look like it'll happen awfully soon." Frank did have an awful knack for motivating Gerard to leave the aforementioned basement, so fuck, you never know.

"He just needs a little encouragement." I nodded in agreement, but Gerard needed balls just a little more than encouragement. "Why is he so antisocial, just asking?"

I wondered if I should tell Pete the entirety of it, so I just went for a small chunk, because there was a hell of a lot of shit that Pete shouldn't know- fuck, there was even a hell of a lot of shit that I shouldn't know. "I don't think he ever fully got over grandma's death, to be honest. He was the closest to her, closer than mum." Grandma had always mattered immensely to Gerard; with mum and dad both working full time until I was born, Grandma practically raised him for the first five years of his life.

"Oh." Pete sighed, his eyes drifting away from me, deep in thought, and I came to wonder as to what someone like Pete could possibly be thinking quite so hard about. "What did she die of, can I ask?"

"She died of cancer." The word simply hurt to say; it was a repulsive thing that I'd quickly grown to hate. Gerard simply wasn't okay for years after she'd died, and I think it was partly what had triggered the whole ordeal with Bert, but with Gerard, you could never really know for sure.

"I had leukaemia when I was a kid." My eyes widened, almost in shock, because Pete really didn't seem like the type. But there never really was a type, was there? It was a weird thing to hear- well, not weird, I don't know... unexpected?

"Really… wow?" I hoped this wasn't another lie, but I think knew this was a clearly a too sensitive topic to lie about. Even Pete had boundaries, or at least I hoped so.

"Yeah," He inhaled slowly, breathing in all the memories at once. "Everyone thought I was going to die, y'know?" He gave me a small smile, an odd smile for an odd thought to go with an odd sentence. "But I didn't and that's what matters."

I exchanged smiles with him, because despise the inappropriate jokes and the mildly morbid humour, Pete always knew when and how to keep everything light.

"Yeah, I mean who else would pester me about blowjobs on such a regular basis?" I grinned at him; Pete would be someone I'd miss, because despite the fact that I'd probably never admit it, Pete was important, and not just mildly important, Pete was hella important.

"I know right. I'm a vital part of your life, Mikey, and maybe you should respect that with a Breaking Bad episode-" Here we go again. Okay, maybe I take back what I previously said about boundaries, because quite clearly, Pete just doesn't know when to shut it.

"Not a chance." He pouted in an awfully cute manner and I instantly found myself forgiving him. I was utterly useless when it came to holding grudges.

"You're far too mean to me." He whispered into my ear in a terribly suggestive manner, and I wasn't going to lie when I say it turned me on a little, just a little though; this was Pete after all. I couldn't let his ego inflate any further or he might just run the risk of exploding.

"You kidnapped me."

"Whatever.” He paused for a moment, his eyes lonely and empty almost drifting back into the beat of Nirvana, and then suddenly he seemed to come back to sanity, all at once and far too suddenly. “Mikey. Can I tell you something… it’s important?”

“Yeah, of course you can.” I answered as calmly as I could manage to, but inside I was quaking, because these were not the words of good news, these were the words of ‘hello, your life has now been fucked up’.

“Mikey, I need to say that, I-…“ His words were interrupted by the vibration of my phone.

Mikey fuck come home please… help me

-Gerard

“I have to go.”

Brothers over cute guys, always, every day, even Pete. And now there were two unfinished sentences lingering in my head and haunting me like an unsettled ghost.

 

-

 

Gerard hadn't left me with much choice other than to leave a desperate Pete Wentz in his awfully noisy living room. I sorted of minded, but in a way that I wouldn't dare admit; Gerard was more important than Pete any day, because Gerard was my flesh and blood, I had him forever and without a doubt, and Pete, well Pete was... well Pete. I just couldn't describe it; it was hella complicated. He was just Pete- no, he was my Pete, and he always would be, or at least I hoped so, because despite the irritancy and phone calls at ungodly hours, Pete was kind of my backbone, and as sad as it was, my only and best friend.

As I opened the door, I was met with an unusually full kitchen - had someone died?

"Hey Mikey, this is Ryan." I hurried through the door, leaving a frustrated and overall just generally disappointed Pete Wentz, in favour of my distressed brother, only to be met by Frank standing in my kitchen, alongside the guy I recognised with the eyeliner from my lectures. Gerard was curled up on the countertop in the corner, seeming to be distancing himself from Frank and Ryan as much as possible.

This was confusing, and I only managed to gather one thing from the whole situation - it wasn't looking good, it wasn't looking good at all. And I have should know; I practically have a master’s degree in the art of things not looking good.

"Hey." I waved awkwardly at the boy who had now been introduced to me as Ryan, before glancing around to find Gerard sat rather unadroitly on the kitchen countertop, a cup of coffee releasing steam at a rapid pace whilst being trapped between his firm grasp. I was struggling to find what was so urgent for me to return home - not that I was at all that upset to leave Pete, there was just the matter of Pride and Prejudice laying on my desk, with several tonnes of guilt pressing down on me with every unread page. Guilt was an awfully puzzling emotion, because as much guilt as there was, there was twice as much of me that didn't want to read it.

Ryan grinned at me - he looked friendly enough and didn't see what Gerard’s problem was. Maybe he was just being selfish and he wanted Frank all to himself, but the expression on that sullen face of his told a different story entirely.

"Hey Mikey, don't I see you in my-" I didn't want his life story, so it'd be rather necessary to cut him short - he was a competent English student, he was going to have an ego the size of the sun. It was possibly even competing with Gerard's, and maybe that was simply the problem here.

"You see me in my lectures, yeah." I finished for him, looking between Ryan and Gerard warily, wondering as to why there could possibly be any cause for dislike or possibly even jealous between the two of them.

Perhaps it was something to do with the eyeliner- Fuck, I don't know. The two of them looked pretty similar, even down to the eyeliner, except Ryan looked like he'd actually showered within this past week. Hygiene was quite obviously, not one of Gerard's strong points, as you could tell by the stench, but I honestly think he liked it - how Frank puts up with it though, I really don't know.

"Oh yeah, cool." He stood awkwardly beside Frank, looking between Gerard and I, possibly wondering which one of us was just the more opposed to him.

I mean, he was okay, he just reminded me a little too much of Gerard, but he'd taken away all the uncanny 'Gerard' traits that made him feel like an imposter almost, like an alien within my own home.

"I'll be seeing more of you now, so that's cool." He used the word 'cool' too much, and quite frankly, it was rather beginning to irritate me. He was an English student with far too much eyeliner and far too many scarves, whose languages choices seemed to masquerade him as some kind of Californian surfer dude - this was something he most certainly was not.

I raised my eyebrows at him, "how so? Are you planning on kidnapping me or something?" I let out a maladroit laugh, the situation reminding me just a little of Pete, and his questionable mannerisms.

Pete was just very questionable- well, odd, well... just Pete, really, Pete was odd, that was taken for granted, but Pete was irreplaceable; who else could I have a phone call conversation about dildos with at three am? Exactly!

"I hope he isn't!" Frank butted in, winking at me and I laughed, until I noticed Gerard's devil eyes from beneath his unwashed matt of black hair - something had occurred between him and Frank - that was for certain. And I'm sure this something would kick off the exact second a certain Ryan Ross left the room.

Frank and Gerard hadn't argued once in the few years they'd known one another, so for something like this to be that relevant, it really had to be something important, that was for sure.

"Yeah, I'm not - don't worry." Okay, maybe he isn't quite so reminiscent of Pete. "It's just with me being Frank's boyfriend-" I nearly spit out my internal organs as I did a double take, Gerard and I's eyes meeting as I suddenly got everything.

A wave of guilt washed over me as I realised I'd be leading Gerard on, when Frank already has this English student with better eyeliner than him and personal hygiene, and the apparent need to pretend he's Californian with every word that leaves his mouth.

I suddenly realised that Ryan had in fact stopped talking and was now watching my reaction, and by the way my eyes bulged out into Gerard's general direction, he'd probably gotten the wrong idea entirely. "That is okay, isn't it?" His words came out with a little slither of poison, and my eyes darted in Frank's direction for help, however the chestnut haired boy was in fact looking in Gerard's direction, his eyes loaded with an equal amount of poison. This was not the best of situations, and quite clearly at that.

"Yeah, of course it is." I met him with a sincere gaze, to show him that ironically, I was in fact the opposite of homophobic. "It's fine - great, actually." I didn't quite manage the word 'great' without gulping at the amount of guilt regarding Gerard and just how much I'd pressured him, only for things to turn out like this.

Fuck, Gerard's soul was probably shattering at this very moment in time and that was not something I wanted to imagine, or even remember that I had caused, because despite what I think I can trick myself into thinking, it was my fault, well and truly my fault- well, not all of it, there was some blame to be placed on Frank and Ryan, but you couldn't really hate them for falling in love, even if it wasn't 'right' by Gerard's terms.

"Yeah..." I found myself being met by the untrusting gaze of Ryan Ross. His eyes seemed to follow me like trackers, noticing my every moment and noting it down instantly - it was unnerving to say the least.

"Oh fuck off, Ryan! He doesn't give a shit about your little gay butt-fucking relationship - none of us do. Just take your great big ego and get the fuck out of my house!" Gerard had snapped.

Gerard had well and truly snapped, and maybe this time, I didn't entirely blame him, because maybe, I too, wanted an overly pretentious, eyeliner wearing little twat out of my kitchen just as much as he did. I just wasn't quite so direct about it. Manners were what it was; what Gerard was lacking.

Frank just stood there dumbstruck, grabbing onto Ryan's hand simply to prevent him from lashing out on Gerard. I didn't blame Frank either, because I couldn't imagine that he'd ever seen Gerard in a state like this before, and I bet that his little Ryan filled head couldn't quite imagine as to what the hell could possibly have caused it.

Frank was far too innocent for his own good sometimes, and actually in the best of times, it was rather cute, and I think that's what Gerard liked, knowing that Frank was sweet and innocent and worth staying good for, worth putting the needles and the pills down for. Frank had kept Gerard strong, that was for sure. I was just terrified as to how Gerard would end up after what was inevitably about to occur

Gerard seemed unimpressed at the fact that Ryan Ross was still stood, infuriated expression intact, in his kitchen. He was probably checking out his eyeliner in the reflective fridge door, that, or Frank's butt... Then again, Gerard was probably looking at Frank's butt right- fuck, maybe even Frank was- okay, maybe I should slow down regarding the butts.

"And you can take your fucking pansy little boyfriend with you." I didn't think anyone in the room could entirely believe that Gerard had just actually insulted Frank. This was a new low entirely, because never, never had things gotten quite so bad between them before, not ever, and no one was expecting it to, not even now.

"What the fuck did you say?" The words simply tumbled from Frank's lips and I'd never quite seen someone of five feet and four inches get quite so angry before, but I didn't exactly blame him: jealous, stubborn princess Gerard was more than a handful to deal with - he was like a whole fucking armful to deal with.

"Frank-" Ryan tugged on Frank's arm, but he was far too busy striking down Gerard with optic poison, to care about Ryan, eyeliner, hygiene and all. Ryan's eyes grew big, inflating with eyeliner and egotistical status.

"Fuck off, Ryan!" Frank snapped, Ryan letting go of him instantly, and then did him compose himself, only just realising what he'd said. His eyes blamed Gerard entirely, yet his mouth just let out a sigh, as I remained practically paralysed in the doorway, watching as Gerard may just quite possibly be about to mess his own life up.

"I'm sorry, just go." Ryan didn't need telling twice, clearly over glad to be rid of Gerard, and Gerard was of course, equally as glad to be rid of Ryan, it was just Frank that was the matter now, Frank and his stupid blindness towards Gerard's love for him. I just hoped it wasn't blindness out of choice.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Frank's fury turned up, and the aforementioned 'something' tumbled straight out. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Gerard? Can't you just be happy for me, even if you 'despise' Ryan, can't you just accept that I'm happy?" Well, I say tumbled, they were more like precisely aimed missiles. Maybe even grenades, or nuclear war weapons, or strands of Hitler's hair- god, I don't know.

"You're so happy with your pansy little boyfriend with his English degree, and his ‘great life’, with coffee and his lovely Instagram account and those scarves- I can smell a gay man a mile off, so I didn't know what was up with you saying you were just friends at the start. Oh and that fringe, that fucking fringe. I hope you're fucking happy - don't lie to me, Iero." Gerard was beyond jealous, Gerard was the queen of jealousy, Gerard was the princess shouting down from her tower because the dragon slayed her prince. Never before have had I found myself comparing Ryan Ross to a dragon, but, something you try something new every day, I suppose.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean, that you're jealous?" Frank shot Gerard a look of repulsion and disgust, and Gerard shot one back, but really Gerard was jealous, he was hella jealous, and I hated that I was the only one in the room that apparently had the intelligence to figure that out.

"And maybe I didn't tell you because I knew you'd freak out like this with your fucking 'I'm single and I love it - couples can go get fucked', stuck up attitude!" Okay, maybe Frank had a point and a valid one at that, but... fuck, Gerard had really screwed up this time, and I couldn't help but feel like it was entirely my fault.

"I'm still confused." I butted in before Gerard could fuck things up further. "Can someone explain to me what the hell's just happened, civilly?" I looked between the two of them with a stern gaze, and almost felt like I was talking to a pair of very stubborn five year olds. Which, it did in fact feel like I was, because Frank and Gerard were practically the twenty year old equivalents.

"Well, this arsehole here," Gerard waved one trembling finger at Frank, his eyes darting in my direction - they were bloodshot, with veins crawling in like ivy, "comes in with his fucking little perfect cock-sucking boyfriend and lets him waltz around as if he owns the place-"

"No, no. I invited Ryan over, because maybe, I thought I could trust you and your arrogant pratty little ass enough to trust you to meet him, but no, of course not, you're Gerard Way, and it's not as if I can have any other friends, is it?" Gerard was very possessive, but I guess he had his reasons, Frank was special to him, and he'd be practically dead without him.

"I'm not saying that-" Gerard kind of was, to be honest, but it really was just in his possessive, selfish, arrogant, pratty, but overall entirely lovable nature. Or was it just our blood relationship shining through here? It didn't matter, because Gerard did.

"Yes, yes you are!" Frank didn’t care at all; he’d broken, they’d both broken. This had broken them, and not just as a pairing, but as individuals.

"Guys, can you just calm down-" I tried to stop the argument thrashing through the flood gates, but of course, neither of them would let me.

"Fuck off, Mikey!" Gerard's words came out with so much poison, even I, who was more than used to this, shuddered. He barely spoken to me like this ever before, and even though I was used to Gerard's diva mode, it was still a bit of a shock... well, as were most things when it came to Gerard. The guy was awfully spontaneous.

"Leave your brother alone!" Frank screeched at him, protecting me for no other sake than to spite Gerard, knowing this hurt a little, but it didn't hurt as much as the fact that I knew Frank and Gerard's friendship had been well and truly ripped straight in half, and I was unsure as to whether it could ever truly be fixed again.

Well, there could be fake smiles and fake apologies, but it'd never quite be the same between them again, and I think, I really do think that it'd affect me too. And it wouldn't just be the backlash of Gerard's pissy mood, it'd be missing Frank, it'd be missing watching Frank make him happy and Gerard making Frank happy, because deep down it made me happy to know that there were two people that could fit together so perfectly, but.... apparently not.

"He's my brother, I have to be careful, you don't go snag him up and date him as well, you little whore-" Gerard did not just- he did. Gerard just called Frank a whore, and really it backlashed onto me more than it should have, because I'm stuck in an awkward situation of caring greatly for both of them and not knowing where the hell to go from here.

"You really are bitter, aren't you?" Frank looked at Gerard with pure fucking repulsion. "Have a nice life, Gerard Way. Have a nice fucking life."

And with that Frank was gone, after a certain confused and pissed off Ryan, whilst I was left to pick up the pieces of my emotionally shattered older brother as I tried to refrain from punching him straight in the face. It's a great life, isn't it?

-

I'd dreaded going into my lecture today, and not just because of the lack of Pride and Prejudice I'd read, but now there was horribly apparent and rather irritating issue of Ryan Ross, who was now glaring at me from a few feet away, whilst viciously texting someone, who I assumed to be Frank by the constant hating glances he sent in my direct direction quite so frequently.

Ryan was a stubborn bitch, even more so than Gerard in fact, which in turn led my mind to brush over the fact of just how similar both of them are, and that in turn led me to wonder if Frank's subconscious just had a weird way of letting him know he was in love with Gerard, or whether I was just the pissy little bitch here.

After sitting down, I'd become rather tired of Ryan's persistent and annoyingly consistent stares, like fuck- did that guy even need to blink? I decided that maybe I could beat him at the rapid text game, and regardless of my stubborn and naturally competitive nature, I'm sure Pete would love to be filled in upon the current situation regarding Frank and Gerard, and even if he didn't, it would still provide a suitable distraction to prevent me from more accidental pyromania as the lecturer's voice continuously droned on for the next hour and a half about Jane Austen and her boring literature. Couldn't she have chosen something that was even mildly interesting to twenty year old guys, this was old woman literature and literally no one in this lecture hole apart from her fit that demographic.

Hey Pete sorry about having 2 leave yesterday x

I tapped out a message as quickly as my fingers would let me, before quickly scanning it over and once I decided that my eight words were satisfactory, I hit send, and I just hoped Pete hadn't decided to be asleep at ten in the morning, because other than that, I was out of options. Gerard wouldn’t even leave his duvet for the next week, especially with what had happened with Frank. But, really I didn't entirely blame him that much; Frank's irrational emotions were out of his control and his own symptoms of irrationality were sure to follow.

My phone beeped just a little too loudly as it signified my response, and I quickly turned it onto silent and the screen brightness down considerably, before checking the contents of Pete's reply message. I certainly didn't want to give that bitch of a lecturer yet another reason to hate me, not that she was in anyway short of them. In fact, she probably had a whole list of them just in case.

Mikeyyy! Its ok how r u? x

I grinned, just simply being glad I didn't have to hear his ear-splitting greetings down the phone line, or let alone, in person. It was nice to have Pete's company, it was just even nicer to be able to put him on mute and for him to not even know, because I could really get tired of people, and Pete was most certainly no exception, except, Pete did seem to want to think that he was everyone's exception to everything and not a slightly fucked up, but well-meaning guy. I cared for him nonetheless.

I’m good. Gerard isn’t & that’s why i left:( x

I began to wonder if Gerard would particularly appreciate if I filled Pete in with the exact details regarding Frank and Ryan, but I came to the conclusion that if he could suggest that Pete and I were having sex, especially in front of our mother, then I could tell Pete about his argument with his not quite boyfriend, who he was definitely very in love with despite Frank's apparent unreturned feelings. It just didn't make that much sense though, because the way Frank looked at him and the way Frank looked at him days ago, were looks of two very different people.

Nothing made any sense, but then again, life just had such a habit of being dysfunctional, especially to me. I was just a dysfunctional black hole at the centre of a dysfunctional universe. Orbiting me we have: Pete, the planet of odd, Gerard the planet of divas, Frank the planet of indecision, Ray the planet of the 'fro, and Ryan the planet of eyeliner and boyfriend snatching.

What’s happened? :o X

I began to prepare myself for quite possibly the longest text I'd ever send, because there was more to say than just a few words could cover, and even with the briefest of descriptions, I'd have an entire essay.

Well... frank has a boyfriend and it isn’t Gerard. It’s this kid called Ryan Ross in my English lecture right now and is glaring at me as i type this. Ryan’s kinda like Gerard with the eyeliner except he has personal hygiene. and so basically frank introduced Gerard to Ryan and well Gerard was a little princess about it and started insulting Ryan so he left and then it all when off between frank and Gerard they were screaming at each other and Gerard called frank a whore and frank told Gerard to fuck off. It wasn’t pretty. And Gerard’s a real fucking mess now cos he’s definitely very in love with frank despite the existence of Ryan. I doubt gee will ever leave the house again now fuck :( x

It took Pete longer than usual to reply, but I didn't blame him, because I'd given him rather a lot to read and process. I'd given myself rather a lot to live with and Frank had given Gerard rather a lot to not want to live with, and that was the most frightening thing of all, because Gerard took things seriously, and Gerard without Frank was not a Gerard I particularly wanted to see.

Oh god... well at least we know franks gay. I’m all for the murdering of this Ryan bitch. In your lecture you say? X

Despite how much Pete insisted upon them, his murder plots were simply never going to work, especially if I wasn't keen on spending the remainder of my sad little life in jail. Pete was quite the little sadist, but he meant it in an innocent manner... well... kind of... not really. It was Pete, there was no such thing as innocent in that sexually distraught head of his.

No. Pete I’m not fucking killing him. I just want advice on what to say to Gerard or frank fuck idek?? :S x

I wasn't quite sure if it was out of place to talk to Frank about this, and I wondered if he'd even want to talk to me at all now, seeing as the guy he loved wasn't the one directly related to me, and the house he would be spending so much time in, was no longer mine. It took a toll on me too, because Frank was a good guy - I liked having him around. Frank was just as important to me as he was to Gerard sometimes, because Gerard and I were close, close enough to share friends, in fact. Or maybe that was just my pathetic loneliness taking its toll.

Ok that is a tricky situation. I’d try to just cheer Gerard up and take his mind of frank like do something just the two of you that you haven’t done since he met frank to take his mind of him entirely. I would try & break up Ryan & frank but i suppose ur nicer than that ;) x

I had to chuckle just a little at that, in turn, of course, gaining Mr Ross' immediate attention, which of course came in the form of murderous eyes and a face of repulsion, but he was right to think my laughter was in some way related to that sad little life of his.

As I examined his face, I came to realise that he was wearing even more eyeliner than yesterday, and I even came to wonder if that was at all possible, because it really did seem to be. He was less of a pratty boy and more of a scarf wearing panda. It sort of worked for him though, even if I didn't like to admit it, I could kind of see as to why Frank might be attracted to him, but there was also the little fact that he reminded me of Gerard, just more than a little, and I'm sure Frank sees that too.

Idk what though he and frank were closer than close: / x

Frank was a part of Gerard in fact, and I couldn't imagine what it was even like for Gerard right now, for both of them in fact, because I soon came to the realisation that this would be hurting Frank too and then maybe things wouldn't be quite so hard to fix, or at least I hoped not.

Gerard and Frank were conundrumous enigmas of themselves. When those two unreckonable forces were put head to head, only hell could break lose, because when two attracting magnets tore part, you knew the whole world had gone into ruin.

Then try and fix the friendship and let the luuuurvvee return after ;) x

Pete was so goddamn cheesy, it was making me blush, there was just the fact that I hadn't the slightest idea as to how on earth I could mend a friendship as shattered as Gerard and Frank's, especially when Gerard was such a stubborn little princess. I wasn't even sure if I could mend it, or whether that'd be something they'd have to fix between themselves, but they were far too stubborn to even consider apologising.

Suddenly, I felt a hard shove to my right side, and spun around almost instantaneously to be met with the smug and eyeliner coated face of Ryan Ross. "Fuck." Only after a few moments did I realise that my profanity thoughts had blurred the lines and actually slipped my lips.

"Ah, fuck." And it happens again. He just seemed to be all the more amused at my mistake the second time it occurred, but really, I didn't blame him; I could only hate him. I was a walking travesty.

"Mikey." He addressed me in a stern, yet hushed whisper, apparently much more cautious than myself when it came to drawing the lecturer's attention.

I wasn't one to particularly care for this, seeing as she already hated me enough for me not to even vaguely care about opinions upon me, as long as I passed this fucking course and would never have to see her again.

"How's Gerard?" He threw a snide comment in my direction and I wanted to physically remove him from existence, but I soon remembered that I was in fact a very weak and lanky guy - I'd get Pete to do it for me. Pete would surely be more than happy to as well; Breaking Bad wouldn't even need to be involved (thank god).

"He’s fine, thanks." I spat back with an equal amount of inner cyanide, wishing I could just tear that ego of his to shreds, and just for Gerard's sake, because I was beginning to develop quite a profound hatred for the guy too. I think it was a brotherly thing, especially with Gerard and I being so close. Or maybe it was just human instinct to plot the murder of assholes, or was that just natural selection - I couldn't tell anymore.

"What? Even now that he can't fuck my Frankie?" I couldn't see his facial expression in the darkened lecture hall, but I didn't even need to see it to know it was a smirk, a devious, fucking, 'I'm Ryan Ross and look I've won the whole world' smirk.

The guy had turned from someone I didn't mind into the epitome of repulsion over the course of a few brief hours, and if that doesn't prove to you that hatred is the strongest force in life then you're wrong. I can't think of anything witty - you're just wrong. You can see why I'm failing English, can't you? Curse whatever in the hell possessed me into choosing to get a degree in this bullshit.

"What-" I was confused as to how Ryan had sniffed out Gerard's attraction towards Frank, or whether it was just a snide comment, but either way it was unnerving, because Ryan seemed to have this knack of being right on par with his insults.

"I can see the way he looks at him - I'm not blind. And I know you know too." Ryan was stupidly clever, and in fact, probably clever enough to have read Pride and Prejudice by now, so maybe it was in my best interests to actual befriend the guy, even if he was a massive asshole.

It was just the way he spoke that made me want to fire a bullet through his cranium, also the way he acted both to Frank and Gerard, and I knew that it wasn't exactly my business, but it felt like it, because Gerard was my brother and he mattered. Therefore, whatever mattered to him, in turn ended up mattering to me.

"Yeah, but that doesn't matter, because of you and Frank." The words were hard to say, but I knew they were the right ones. It felt like treason, but it was the non-douche thing to say. I wanted to try and be the nice guy here, maybe just to outline Ryan's douchebaggery, or maybe a seed of kindness had somehow be planted within my grey matter - I blame Pete's coffee. That shit is dodgy.

"I didn't expect someone related to Gerard to say that." I ignored the snideness of his comment temporarily, simply to let my mind focus on the true purpose here - obliterating Ryan from existence. Yup, Pete had definitely been influencing me. Give it a month or two and I'd be the one suggesting an episode of Breaking Bad - dear god that sounds like a scene from a horror movie.

"I'm not Gerard - everyone just seems to think so." Okay, I was close to Gerard, but I certainly was nowhere near as close to being Gerard as Ryan was. If only he'd come down from his fucking tower of pride for a moment to see that. I highly doubted this would happen though, of course. Ryan was the epitome of arrogance, only short come by Gerard himself.

"You two are pretty close." It's not like we're fucking brothers, is it? I have the right to be close to Gerard. Ryan's right to be close to Frank? There simply isn't one.

"He was closer to Frank." I shouldn't have said that and I knew the moment the words left my mouth - his facial expression only there to remind me.

Ryan was clearly not the happiest with my little confession, and maybe, after all, that was a good thing, because assholes warranted douchebaggery, even in the most repulsive of forms. I blame Pete and his drugged coffees for all of this, as I would, of course. I'm only human; I'm only going to blame someone else.

"Was, he was." He emphasised, his words spiked with the most deadly poison that man could possibly fathom concocting. "That's the keyword."

He was awfully adamant when it came to the issue of Frank and whom he should 'belong' to. The whole concept of belonging that had been planted in Ryan's head was scarily possessive, scarily to the point I was concerned about Frank's safety more than Gerard's sanity.

"You're awfully proud of that, aren't you?" Shots fired. I liked testing just how far I could go with this, maybe this was Pete's coffee or maybe it was just the fact that I've developed more than just a little sass ever since I walked into that goddamn comic store.

Therefore, did that somehow make Pete liable for all my mistakes- nah, I wasn't that lucky. Pete however was most definitely liable for any dirty mindedness created from this colossal mess of grey matter I had brewing up there.

"So what if I am?" He didn't seem at all fazed by my accusations, in fact, he seemed to enjoy them. He was just arrogant enough to bask in the limelight, shimmer under the reflection of strobe lights on several hundred pairs of glassy eyes.

"What's the problem with that?" The problem with that is your existence, honey.

Sass level = Gerard.

"That you're an asshole, that's the fucking problem." I reminded him, because quite frankly, he looked like he needed a reminder, and I wanted to watch him shudder as the words sank in like tiny little poisoned daggers - thousands of them, pricking every inch of his skin like needles with purpose.

"No, that's not the problem; your opinion is the problem, Mikey." He spat my name as if it was something to be taunt, a word not even worth his precious time. I was nothing to him; just the little brother of someone he hates, and that made me nothing more than the dust under his shoe or the gum he'd shove under a desk and regret it when he accidentally touched it.

"Back off, not just from me and Gerard, but from Frank too." His eyes widened at that, and I knew that things were really starting to get sadistically interesting now.

He had the right to back off from Frank, because he didn't deserve that guy, and I wasn't just being bitter or stubborn, but someone who's such an ass to their boyfriend's friends shouldn't be able to date that asshole. Frank just needs reminding that Gerard and I will be there for him always; I'd just have to work on getting Gerard to admit that. However, luckily, it seemed apparent that I had a certain way with confessions.

"Frank's mine and not his - he needs to learn that-" Now, that was red flag language. Red flags and warning signs and a big deportation ship with Frank on it, sailing as far away from Ryan Ross as he can.

"No," I began to correct him, "Frank is his own fucking person, you do not own him, Gerard doesn't own him, and President fucking Obama doesn't even own him."

Okay, maybe the president did kind of own him in a way, but this was supposed to be a free country and I'll interpret that as I like, thank you very much.

"You'd be surprised in the bedroom." He leaned in closer to me; his facial expression was reminiscent of Pete's, but without the joking aspect, without the safety and the backbone. "He's rather submissive." Ryan just fucking winked, and then it sank in: Ryan's screwed Frank. Frank's screwed Ryan. That wasn't something I wanted to consider, let alone imagine, or fuck, even know about.

My jaw just fell open, my mouth gaping, open and wide - I looked ridiculous, but I didn't care, this was an appropriate reaction in my books at the very least. "You- had se- with-" I could barely form a sentence as I struggled to imagine Frank really with someone that wasn't Gerard. It just wasn't right, it just wasn't Frank.

Ryan simply snorted, his eyebrows rising and his eyes moving round in a circular motion, before he let out a few spiteful words, "I knew I shouldn't talk to virgins."

-

It was one am, and by now the words on the pages of Pride and Prejudice were still nothing but a blur, and I was still not even half way through the goddamn book.

Jane Austen was simply a subject that made very little sense to me, as did rather a lot of things considering my unfeasibly incompetent intelligence that seems to have rotted as opposed to developed over the years.

The sound of my phone ringing penetrated the unholy and generally unstudious silence; I needed to concentrate, but this was simply too much concentration, as if the world expected too much of me, and as if that made any sense at all.

I picked up my phone knowing it was Pete, but I picked it up regardless; I was truly tired of Pride and Prejudice, and was just about admitting failure in the eyes of my English professor.

"Mikeyyyyyy!" Came Pete's scream down the line, and I immediately put into onto speaker and pushed the damn thing to the furthest corner of my desk.

Pete was a necessity but an irritating one at that, but sometimes even the best things came in oddly shaped packages. I'm definitely not talking about what Pete wishes I was, okay?

"Yes, hello Pete." I replied in a suitably unenthusiastic tone, maybe it was just to piss Pete off, but whatever, I didn't exactly care that much.

"It’s past one in the morning." I physically groaned as my eyes flickered over the retina shatteringly bright, red, LED display numbers on my alarm clock, which sat on my beside table, living only to haunt me and to haunt me more as the night went on.

"I'm aware." Pete was definitely smirking - I could tell that through the phone line without question.

Pete's emotions were generally irrational, but overall predicable if you'd been friends with him longer than an hour, but seeing how much of a dickhead the guy is, I'm assuming that I'm the only one who's accomplished such a lengthy friendship with him so far.

"And yet you still find it a suitable time to call me?" One am was in no way a suitable time for me to be awake, or suitable time for me to have to force my eyes to scan over text that simply refused to sink into my brain, and overall, it was most certainly not a suitable time for someone quite as irritating as Pete Wentz to decide to scream into my ears, even if it was over telephone lines.

"Yeah, well you picked up didn't you, and I'm bored, Mikes." With Pete, there was no choice as to whether you picked up or not, but Pete, of course, didn't acknowledge that directly; he just liked to use that to his advantage.

Pete's boredom was also a rather pressing matter that I'd only come to care about via the direct matter of him very frequently reminding me of his boredom, and complete incompetence when it came to entertaining himself with something other than flirting or the occasional one night stand.

"And why's that my problem?" I didn't quite see how our 'friendship' warranted his incapability to menially entertain himself to somehow become my concern, and a concern greater than my one regarding my English course and how terribly shit I was at the whole ordeal, not even the subject, I think college and I just didn't mix, but I was stuck there now and pretty much all out of ideas when it came to anything else, so I guess I was okay, or complacent at the very least.

"I'm making it your problem, Mikey." And believe me; he was doing a rather good job at that.

Pete's overly sadistic tendencies seemed to allow him to guilt trip over people whilst bypassing the whole moral code and all that bullshit. This had become increasingly annoying other the past few days, and had especially greatened with increasement in phone calls and the rather apparent decrease in hours that either of us spent sleeping.

I really should blame Pride and Prejudice, but I think I'll just settle for blaming Pete, maybe because it's easier, and maybe because he deserves it. I'm not entirely sure if I agree with the latter of the two quite yet anyway.

"Yes, I noticed." Pete had been doing rather a lot of that recently - making me notice.

He was good at it, especially when it came down to making me notice things I didn't particularly want to notice, such as how many box sets of Breaking Bad he owned, or the kisses we both somehow ended up insisting on putting at the end of our text messages to one another, or just how much I looked like a dysfunctional lesbian immediately after waking up. The latter was definitely one of my favourites, without a doubt.

"Come over to mine." It wasn't a request; it was a demand, as things always were with Pete. That sounded worse than I expected, but I assume that Pete actually intended it to be that way, as he would, being Pete of course. Why Pete wanted me over at his was a whole other matter entirely and one I'd rather not discuss, especially in detail.

"Did the thought that I might be busy not even cross your mind?" I began to wonder, but with Pete it wouldn't have, because I seemed to be Pete's top priority and he assumed this'd be the same for him. This was kind of cute and heart-breaking at the same time, yet totally irrational and inconvenient, so I let Pete's emotional wellbeing take a hit to ensure that I don't end up homeless within the next five years.

"Dude, what the fuck could you do at one in the morning?" It's rather clear that Pete doesn't go to college, and I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even graduate high school. I'm not insulting his intelligence, it just doesn't seem like Pete's scene, and he'd take no hesitance in informing the entire educational board of that surely.

"I’m doing my English coursework." I reminded both him and myself, because I was actually doing very little studying compared to how much I seemed to be telling Pete I was, which in turn made me some sort of dysfunctional, procrastinatory hypocrite with a strong dislike towards Jane Austen and other classic novels.

"It's like this book is fucking refusing to be read." It was more to do with the fact that I didn't want to read it, and my subconscious knew this and was fucking messing with me, because my subconscious had the sadism level of Pete Wentz.

"That's why I didn't go to college, man." This I had previously gathered. College was definitely not Pete's kind of scene, as I'm assuming there isn't a course in 'gay men' or 'one night stands', or some wacky combination of the two. Pete was just odd, like fucking odd, man, but that's really what made him Pete and I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I replaced him.

I think, kind of, in a way, but not really, Pete was my Frank. Well, in the same way that Gerard and Frank hate each other yet are stuck in this limbo of not wanting to live without the other and there's only this fucking stubbornness that's preventing either of them from realising or accepting that.

Pete was my Frank because I hated him and needed him at the same time, and to put it lightly, it was making my head want to roll right off my shoulders, which certainly wasn't a pleasant thought at all.

"Are where are you now? Without any college degree or education further than high school?" Pete was working in a comic store, and somehow his career seemed all the more fruitful than mine had any hopes of being. Like what the fuck could I actually do with an English degree over than sit around in a snobbish manner and pretend I'm Shakespeare?

"I’m having more fun than you." This was true; he certainly was.

Comic stores were definitely a laugh, and especially when they're compared with lecture theatres, study halls and all-nighters pulled over some mediocre book that I'm more than intent on burning, despite my constant denial of my supposed pyromaniac tendencies, which of course, totally are non-existent.

"You're evidently having more fun than me." I paused, grinning to myself as an idea popped into my mind, letting myself watch and smirk as the words rolled off my tongue as easy as easy can be, "seeing as you called me because you were bored."

Pete moaned down the phone, admitting defeat rather than jacking off, I hoped, but with Pete you really couldn't tell and that was most definitely the dodgiest part of it all.

"Yeah, whatever, just come over please. There was this fucking party and oh god, assholes, I need someone to rant to in the safety of my own home." He sounded mildly drunk as he always did which led me to consider whether that was alcohol or whether just permanently spoke with a slight slur to his words. It would probably be offensive to ask, but I wonder if Pete could even take offense to anything I said, considering half the shit he's mumbled on about to me in the early hours of the morning.

"It's one in the morning." I reminded him again, the red LED numbers refusing to leave the corner of my eye from where they seemed to be set out on permanently imprinting upon my already partly damaged retinas. Let’s say studying all night doesn't exactly do wonders for your eyes, as you could have guessed.

"And?-" Being Pete, he of course didn't seem to find any problem in the lateness of the night, or earliness of the morning, whatever.

I swear Pete slept less than me, and I was a deprived, partly insomnic, college student, who drank far too much coffee and had far too much coursework. However, Pete's sleep schedule was quite evidently even more fucked up than that strange little head of his was.

"I don't have a car." He still didn't seem to get it - I am not walking through the pitch black night in fucking Jersey. Then again, Pete and health safety aren't exactly best buds, in fact, they barely even know of one another's existence.

"I can't walk this late at night; I'll get mugged and murdered and rap-" He didn't let me finish, calling out my neuroticism before I could even notice it. I was overly neurotic and downright paranoid at times, but I think this time warranted it, because who in their right mind would walk out this late at night.

"What, all at the same time?" Pete was just taking the piss now and we both knew this far too well; Pete was never one for seriousness as you can tell.

If Pete had such a lax relationship with health and safety and even just general common sense, I had begun to wonder as to how he was still even alive at this point in time, but it was Pete and he seemed to have magical fucking powers and an eternal stash of condoms, which with a lifestyle like his, I guess, came more than in fucking handy.

"Yes, I will!" Okay, maybe I was overdoing it, but I really did not want to get forced into this one, especially not by someone quite as arrogant and ego centric as Mr Pete Wentz himself. Somehow, however, Pete just managed to pull off arrogance and with ease at that fact. He was a stuck up little prat some times and still managed to be fucking attractive in the process.

"On a five minute walk, really?" Here came the endless amounts of sarcasm, but really, what else could I be expecting from someone like him? Give it a minute; we're awaiting the irony missile and the friendly, not quite so friendly, insults train.

Pete was good at the offending people straight to their faces and tricking them into thinking he didn't quite mean it tactic. I, on the other hand, was really not. I didn't make friends, I lost them. Hashtag trendsetter.

"Yes!" He sighed audibly pausing for a moment, clearly more than fucking tired with my constant attempts to evade capture from the lesser spotted Pete Wentz.

"Alright, princess, I'll come and pick you up." Princess? Oh my lord, we were not going there. Nope, nope, nope - not at all. Pete, however, didn't seem to care, and was more than happy to call me 'princess', in fact, if I let him know it irritated me, he'd probably only persist in doing so. Therefore, I'd just have to shut up and wear my princess tiara with pride.

"Uhh..." I stopped him, not sure whether I was less keen on the kidnapping or the whole 'princess' thing, because with Pete, everything was really a royal, bloody mess, and part of me thought- part of me knew, that it was just how he liked it. "I never said I wanted to be kidnapped into your house again, Wentz."

"Oh, come on, I know how much you hate that fucking book-" He had a point and my procrastinatory side was getting more than tempted to listen to him, despite how ridiculously easily it was proving for him to overpower me, which only made me glad I hadn't agreed to an episode of Breaking Bad, because I wasn't 'his', and he certainly was not my Ryan Ross. That, if anything, was for sure.

"I could just go to sleep." I reminded him, but really, I doubted that sleep would come at all. Sleep evaded me like my own sanity these days. I think it was the guilt, the endless guilt that came with countless study devoid hours and days when not a single word of Pride and Prejudice entered my head, let alone registered somewhere up there. The latter was definitely a rare occurrence.

I was going to fail this exam so hard it'd be spectacular. My name would go down in the history books for being an incompetent little piece of fucking shit. 

"Please?" Puppy dog eyes alert - my Pete facial expression reading skills were getting scarily advanced, which only led me to remember just how much fucking time he'd stole from me and put into mindless phone conversations.

"No Breaking Bad." My voice was stern, but it wouldn't mean a thing to him, because he was Pete and he did what he liked and he fucking got away with it.

"Fine, I promise." Pete Wentz was such a fucking liar. "See you in five..." He paused, a word at the tip of his tongue, "princess."

-

"All those candles are a fire hazard." The first thing I noticed as Pete dragged me through his doorway, were the thousands of candles that littered the living room floor.

It looked like a scene from a pyromaniac's childhood and it probably wasn't far off what my lecturer imagined my house to look like, which it certainly didn’t, of course; Gerard would trip over the majority of them on a daily basis.

"Shut up, I was trying to be romantic." Yeah, romantic definitely wasn't Pete's degree of expertise, as we had covered pretty much within our first conversation, but you could only give him credit for trying, I guess. But, still we'd remain Breaking Bad free.

The candles were all horribly scented as well, and it was make me just a little nauseous, and I was wondering if he'd drugged the candles too, as my head was light enough to feel like it could roll off my shoulders without me evening realising. The aforementioned was not realistically likely to happen, yet in the array of dodgy, sedative and mildly illegal scents, my mind was hazy enough to consider the downright impossible within the field of rationality.

"I thought we agreed no Breaking Bad." I raised my eyebrows at him, sniggering a little to myself at the definition of romanticism we had established between the two of us.

Then again, I should have remembered that Pete was a liar, and a terrible one at that, because he'd never quite give up on that Breaking Bad promise, even when we were like seventy years old, and I was living in Tanzania or something equally as far, far away from Pete Wentz, and he'd be living in some sort of asylum for sexually deranged, but he'd still find me, and of course, he'd bring a very specially haunting box set.

"Blowjobs aren't exactly romantic, Mikes." Pete winked at me, locking the door behind us. "They're not for you anyway - the candles. Blowjobs can be arranged for you any day." I raised my eyebrows at him, winking just a little.

There was not a doubt in hell that Pete would never drop this whole Breaking Bad thing, and it was beginning to lose its stigma entirely, becoming all the more irritating as opposed to frightening in any way. Pete was most likely awfully disappointed in this fact, and was without a doubt working on fixing my apparent immunity to his advances this very second.

"Hey, you promised, no Breaking Bad-" I tried to butt in and explain myself in some messed up way, but really, it just wasn't working.

Pete's constant broken promises were another thing to be wary of; he made far too many promises and kept far too little of them, which wasn't the best of personality traits, but at least he wasn't a nuclear bomber in his spare time or something equally as sadistic and concerning. It was concerning because Pete does have an awfully developed interest in sadism.

"Blowjobs aren't strictly limited to Breaking Bad." He winked at me, suggesting the painfully and annoyingly obvious, because it was Pete, what else would he actually want to do? I wondered if Pete actually liked me for my personality or friendship, or whether I was just another vaguely attractive guy with a dick that took Pete's fancy.

I really did hope it wasn't the latter, because Pete was my only friend and a vaguely decent one at that, and I guess, it would actually kind of hurt to lose all hope upon our 'friendship', and not just out of bitter loneliness, because as little as I'd ever want to admit it, I was actually growing rather attached to the guy.

"How about no blowjobs entirely?" I made an ultimatum that Pete would surely disregard without a moment's thought, because well, he was Pete and in his books, he was pretty certain that he could do that. I, on the other hand, was not quite so sure, about Pete's constant persistence in the fact that he was always right regardless of circumstance. It was a little pratty and a tad arrogant, but it did in no way compare to flaming ball of ego centric arrogance on legs, Ryan Ross.

"Spoil sport." Okay, now Pete had clearly ran out of ideas, and was just resorting to friendly insults, that maybe weren't quite so friendly after all, and we just mediocre- well, not even mediocre, just shitty attempts at flirting. Pete liked to think he was a flirt, but he didn't exactly have the best way with words, he just kind of didn't think with his brain an awful lot.

"Manwhore." I, of course, retaliated, because I had grown far too stubborn recently to even fathom letting Pete win this one. I know stubbornness wasn't the most desirable of qualities, but it wasn't as if Pete was entirely fussy when it came to the personality and appearance of the guys he called his 'friends'. And by 'friends', I mean the people he wanted to watch Breaking Bad with, of course.

"That's a compliment, Princess." Oh dear god, I really just hoped he'd stop calling me that, because it was hella embarrassing, and the vivid shade of pink my cheeks went whenever he referred to me by that name did not help my case at all.

"Stop calling me that." I tried to put a stop to his efforts, ignoring the fact that my attempts would of course be entirely unfruitful for just long enough to fool myself into thinking my words would have any effect whatsoever.

"Only when you stop being one." Dear god, I hate Pete Wentz - I was not a fucking princess, that was him if it was either one of us, but I'm sure we could mutually agree on passing the metaphorical tiara onto someone pissier, such as Ryan Ross. "Anyway, this fucking party, drugs fucking everywhere - not my scene, man."

"Good." I replied all too snappily, mainly because the word 'drugs' instantly brought severe flashbacks of seventeen year old Gerard and this piss poor excuse for a human being, Bert McCracken. These were times it still hurt to think about, because their effects were still painfully visible upon Gerard, and if it still hurt Gerard, it still hurt me, and as inconvenient as this was, it didn't matter to me at all.

"What-" Then he realised, just sighing the name out, "Gerard." He paused for a few moments, his mind probably running over a few things Gerard would have reluctantly told him in the past, "he needs Frank, doesn't he, do you think-"

As much as I agreed with him, I just really didn't want to discuss this, especially not now with everything else weighing down on me at the same time, because thinking about my own problems, and Gerard's at the same time was pretty much the definition of personal hell, especially when both of our problems were far too heavy for even the both of us to carry together.

"Pete, don't." I sighed, letting the silence ring out for a few moments, before turning back to Pete, "sorry, I just-" I tried to explain, but I was struggling to, and thankfully, Pete butted in, finishing it all off for me.

I think this would always remain the only time I would ever be thankful for Pete cutting off my speech ever, but it was nice to know his persistent arrogance had some uses, even if they were only in exceptional circumstances.

"I understand." That was kind of a first, and my words were kind of harsh, but overall undoubtedly true, because Pete really had a certain knack for just not getting things like this.

"So, how's that English work doing?" I'm glad that we both mutually agreed not to discuss anything regarding Frank or Gerard, it just wasn't a happy topic, and we weren't them. It kind of wasn't our business, and I didn't want to weigh myself down further with the continuous and persistent weight of all Gerard's boyfriend troubles.

"Oh fuck off! Pride and Prejudice can go suck my dic-" I caught the look in his eyes, that fucking Pete Wentz look; it was unmistakeable, and unfortunately so.

"Don't!" Jesus Christ; Pete was actually impossible, but then again, here he was sat right in front of me, the exact words I was hearing exactly leaving his mouth, "you are not a Jane Austen novel." I was sure I'd never catch Pete being jealous of a fucking classical book, but you know what, there's a first time for everything, and one am really does mess people up. And Pete and I are most certainly no exception.

"I can be anything you want me to be." He winked at me, candles flickering behind him making this look like some fucked up rom-com. A rom-com that was waiting to turn into a horror movie as the candles flickered the room suddenly erupted into flames and then someone's mum would go up on the ceiling in flames, and then everything would just get a little supernatural. Hey, maybe they'd even through a gay angel into the mix- or wait, was that Pete? He was certainly gay, but I'm not quite sure he was angel material.

"I need to sleep, Jesus." I batted his looks off by now, no longer caring at just how frustrated he was with me, and not in an angry way, more of an infatuated way. Which, really should only scare and concern me more.

"The book makes no sense, and I'm so hyped up on caffeine that I physically can't sleep." I grumbled on continuously about Pride and Prejudice for the seven hundred time and was just waiting until Pete got so physically bored of me he'd give up on me and the whole Breaking Bad ordeal entirely.

"Herbal teas, man." Pete sounded like some fucking hippie stoner and it was mildly amusing, but then again, there was also the slightly concerning factor that came with just about every word that left Pete's mouth. It was like a buy one get one free that you couldn't escape, not ever, and certainly not with ease, because that fucking free product would haunt you and chase you down your whole life until you had it.

"Those teas give me fucking weird dreams, man - like I had this dream where I was a horse, like what the fuck?"

I think the one time I had trusted Gerard to make me something 'herbal', was not the best of times, as he'd probably classed weed as herbal, and judging by the dreams, he'd probably chucked some LSD in there for good measure, because he was just a nice guy like that. Yeah, don't trust nineteen year olds with 'herbs', even ones that make an awful habit out of never leaving the house.

"Have any dreams about me?" He crawled closer to me and spoke dramatically, posing a little, and I knew he was about to say something awfully suggestive, and generally Pete esque, overall, "naked?"

Oh my dear god. The worst part of this all wasn't his assumption, it was simply the fact that his assumptions had to come from somewhere and I very much suspected that he'd had dreams of the aforementioned nature involving me, and maybe just the odd episode of Breaking Bad.

"Dream on, Pete." I rolled my eyes at him, growing awfully tired of his persistent attempts to get me to crawl into bed with him, though I didn't exactly blame him, because of course, I was more attractive than you could even imagine, but whatever, maybe that was just my 'princess' side coming through, but I had the fucking right, because I was the goddamn prettiest princess in this whole fucking land, motherfucker!

"I wouldn't see you naked in my nightmares." Okay, maybe that was just a little harsh, but maybe just a little bit of a lie as well, so things made up for themselves.

"But you are the dreamer, and we are the dream." His words came out poetically, making very little sense, as did the rest of Pete generally. Pete and making any sense didn't exactly go well together, but he tried to make it work and I had to give him credit for that at very least, if only that, but that nonetheless.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I raised my eyebrows at him, confused, still awfully disappointed that I hadn't had the delight of reading any of Pete's poetry yet, well, if there was any poetry at all; the likelihood of this seemed to be growing less likely by the day. I was beginning to think Pete had just made up the whole ordeal in yet another desperate attempt to give me his number, and unfortunately for him, this turned out quite well in his favour, didn't it?

He blushed a little, but shrugged it off, clearly just more than a little embarrassed at my dissecting of his spontaneous poetic outbursts, but you couldn't exactly blame me: I hadn't the slightest clue when it came to crypticism. "It doesn't matter."

The conversation died down after that, because despite what Pete said, we both knew it did matter, and we both knew it all too well. All that didn't matter was me knowing and Pete had made that quite clear, crystal clear, in fact.

"It's so weird to think that everyone else is asleep by now." It was rather deep, but a monologue directly from the hippie part of my brain, said only to diminish the awkward silence that now had the room within its grasps.

Monologues were exactly what they said on the tin - dangerous and peculiar things, because monologues weren't processed, censored or filtered, monologues were simply thoughts; monologues were the truth, and in a society like this one, we couldn't be having any of that now could we?

"Yeah..." Pete sighed, pulling all the air from the room into his lungs in one single breath, it was mildly concerning, but overall nothing compared to some of the things Pete's done.

"Mikey." He said my name far too sincerely and into the silence, which only led me to suspect that there was something important he needed to tell me, and then maybe it did matter after all.

"Yeah..." I mumbled out, just a little intimated by his sincere voice in the peaceful silence, and far too scared as to what he could possibly come out with next, because it was Pete, and with Pete you couldn't expect anything at all.

"Can I tell you something?" He didn't even wait for my response, he just went straight for it, spontaneously and irrationally, and that's what I both hated and loved about Pete Wentz. He was just eternally bittersweet, and horribly expertised in the matter. "I lied about the candles."

"W-What?" I was confused, and then his lips were on mine, and I was just paralysed for a few seconds until I threw myself into kissing back, and despite how weird it felt and how much I had to remind myself that this was Pete, it just felt right, and it didn't just feel good, it didn't even feel odd, it felt perfect. 

Perfection was an odd concept, one that couldn't quite be defined with words, only with actions and certain moments in time, which of course led it to mean and feel different to entirely different people. I wasn't quite sure I believed in perfection, because believe me, even Pete had his flaws, but his kissing abilities quite evidently did not. And it wasn't just the kiss, it was the moment itself entirely, because Pete had tried and I had tried and together we'd all made this somehow just perfect.

But all things have to end, and he pulled away, and eyelids opened and I was left there gazing into those brown eyes of his, wishing worlds away, in favour of the only thing I wanted, and the only thing I wanted was the dysfunctional mess that was Pete Wentz. "The candles were for you."

"You're such a bad liar."

"Shut up." And then his lips were on mine again, but more passionate this time, this time was like he meant it, before was just a test run. And believe me, the test run had been more than successful.

I was kissing Pete Wentz, practically making out with him in fact, and they only thought that could cross my mind was, 'God, I'm going to fail this semester', but you know what, I didn't particularly care.

 

-

 

"Stop smiling." I shivered as Gerard's voice seemed to protrude from nowhere, his words interrupting my general procrastination and wasting my life away. "It's annoying."

I lay curled up on the sofa with the TV on mute in the background. There was some modelling show on that I wasn't quite gay enough to be interested in entirely, leaving me to resort to scrolling through Twitter on my phone and ignoring the copy of Pride and Prejudice that lay on the table, with a page curled and a tatty bookmark hanging out the top of it. It was painfully unread to the point it was rather obnoxious. 

"You're annoying." I counteracted, my voice resonating poorly due to my visibly sleep deprived tone of voice. I hadn't sleep in what... forty eight or so hours now, and despite being as knowledgeable in medical practition as a chipped coffee mug, I still knew that this wasn't exactly the healthiest of things to do.

I couldn't get to sleep, though, so it wasn't entirely my fault. Well, I was tired as heck and it was showing in the way I was slouched out on the couch like some sort of dopey zombie, but the caffeine hadn't quite left my bloodstream yet, leaving my veins buzzing and rushing with sugar, even if the rest of me wanted to slowly drop off.

"My best quality, I know!" He smirked manically as he gave my body a gentle shove, allowing him to inhabit half of the sofa at the very least. His voice had remained in a sort of permanently sadistic tone ever since the incident with Frank; he just couldn't be happy, and for once I could understand as to why.

Gerard was never the most optimistic or happy go lucky of creatures, and spent a great part of his years before Frank in a depressed and mildly suicidal state, which was horrible to watch especially when it was someone you really cared about, and especially when you were fifteen - five years younger than Gerard, and five years too young to do anything about it.

I was just eternally glad that Frank came along when he did, because I don't know quite how he managed it, but Frank did do something about it. He did a lot, actually... in fact, he pretty much fixed Gerard, coming to think of it, but those pieces only seemed to stay together when he was around. And now he wasn't, Gerard was shattering like bad pottery, his legs forever stuck and slowly sinking into a monstrous pit of quicksand.

"I wouldn't say it was my best-" Gerard let a smirk lap over the corners of his mouth like a gentle tide going into shore. It was a strange kind of calm, and almost didn't fit in place with the rest of vengeful, chaotic and restless Gerard. He was strange sometimes- a lot of the time. Frank didn't seem to mind, though... but now he did. I was confused as to what could have possibly changed his mind, because Frank was too strong willed for it to be just Ryan Ross.

"Yeah, well you're wrong." I was hit with a snappy tone out of nowhere - Gerard was either PMS-ing, or this was a result of the rift between Frank and him.

"Sorry." I guess he noticed what impact his words had had, for once. That’d be a first.

"It's okay." I mumbled, the corners of my smile slowly faltering, especially as my eyes met with my copy of Pride and Prejudice lying suspiciously on the coffee table. Mum had definitely planted it there, but I couldn't exactly blame her - I wouldn't want to have both of my sons fail in life. Well, if I’d even make it beyond this prolonged state of adolescence that had somehow leaked into my twenties.

But despite mum's efforts, it really did look like Gerard was going to be stuck in the basement for years, and I... in Pete's basement, most likely. Considering the amount of kidnap that had occurred involving a Mr Pete Wentz recently, I wasn't even exaggerating at all, and that fact concerned me far too little for my sanity's liking. Again, I blame Pete's coffee, and candles... and kissing.

His kissing was... indescribable, and in a heavenly manner. It was different, godly even - not that I'd entirely had an awful amount of experience regarding kissing, but Pete was rather insistent upon changing that, and maybe, just maybe, I might let him.

If I was going to fail this English course, I may as well have Pete to leech off of for the rest of my life, even if it does end up involving an unfortunate amount of Breaking Bad.

"Care to tell me as to why you were smiling?" He smirked at me, waggling his eyebrows suggestively; something that Gerard had an unfortunately persistent habit of doing. Not only was it embarrassing, but intrusive and sometimes just downright annoying. Mainly because I didn't want Gerard to know what- who was buzzing around in that crazily caffeinated little coffee zombie brain of mine.

"No." I was smiling because my mind wouldn't leave the topic of Pete alone, and as irritating as he was, he still remained a perfectly adequate topic to think about. Then there was also the kissing, dear god the kissing!

Pete was just an addictive substance to my grey matter; I thought maybe it was the coffee and he'd just drugged me, but I gradually found myself realising that it was just him. Perfect and addictive was just how Pete was, and I don't think even the end of the world could change that.

"Oh c'mon, make me smile. It doesn't matter how insignificant you think it is." Gerard shuffled closer to me, attempting to sweet talk me into confession. What he was even imagining that could be about to confess, I simply didn't want to think about.

It seemed like us Way brothers had a certain love-hate relationship with confessions; I just hoped this wouldn't jinx my relationship with Pete, much like it felt as if I had cursed Gerard and Frank's relationship via the treacherous means of one simple confession.

Rationally, I knew that Ryan's arrival in Frank's life had nothing to do with the confession, and most likely wasn't even aware of the confession's birth into reality, and for that matter neither was Frank. With the latter however, I think that was precisely the problem.

"Pete." It just slipped out, Pete being a subject far too comfortable on my lips. I should probably touch wood or something just to make sure that my superstition doesn't accidentally detonate my slowly forming love life, but the coffee table's too far away to reach and I don't even think my limbs work anymore.

Gerard's eyebrows rose like a reflex, a reflex of sarcasm and sass, and generally all other things Gerard Way; probably a little sprinkle of homosexuality in there as well. "What exactly did Pete do?" Now this was the question I wanted to avoid answering. I was horribly afraid that exactly the wrong set of words would slip right off my tongue and leave both Gerard and I mentally scarred for life.

"Nothing, Pete did nothing." It's apparent that I've inherited the lying trait from a certain Pete Wentz, and this was one inheritance that I really wasn't proud of.

Lying worked well on a devious and attractive Pete Wentz with his flirtatious winking and blowjob jokes, but it didn't on me - a sleep deprived and socially awkward English student who would get kicked out of college before the test could even be marked.

"That's an awful lot of nothing for you to be smiling over." Gerard was uncomfortably inquisitive at times, and he was awfully good at doing so. This probably was to make of up for Gerard's total lack of regard from social norms, general hygiene and manners, along with the acceptable amount of time to stay in your house for. Gerard had definitely flown way off the course of the latter.

"Yeah, you know what? It is." Sassing Gerard wasn't going to work, or even end vaguely well for that matter, but of course, that didn't stop my idiotic brain from trying. I blamed the idiocy upon sleep deprivation, and the sleep deprivation on Pete, because things just weren't morally right if I didn't blame something on Pete.

"Did you have se-" Oh my god, he didn't not think- Of course he did. It was Gerard, and this was regarding Pete, what else could he possibly assume? That we'd sat down and played Barbie dolls? Nah, not a chance in hell.

Gerard's interrogation was flawless, besides the one simple fact that we actually didn't do anything of the sort. Much to Pete's annoyance, of course, but I don't think a day could quite be done without pissing off Pete Wentz once at the very least. This was mildly sadistic, but true, and there was no denying that.

"Fucking hell, no we didn’t!" I couldn't stop my cheeks blushing a deep scarlet even though I knew that his suggestion was far from the truth, and quite thankfully so, because I really didn't want Pete and I to go quite that far... well not yet anyway. Give it a few months and maybe I'll reconsider, but it's just the fact that the world of dating is depressingly new to me, and half the time, I really don't have a fucking clue as to what the hell I'm actually doing, but I don't think Pete does either, so we're fine. In Pete's case, it isn't due to inexperience whatsoever; he just has an awful tendency of making a habit of being very drunk.

"Sure?" I nodded far too eagerly, causing his eyebrow mechanism to go up again. Gerard had this horribly habit of being naturally skeptical with everything I said. It was annoying to say the least.

This was especially so ever since I lied about losing his leather jacket when I was eleven. Eleven. That was nine years ago now, and I'd definitely grow up by now, and at sixteen Gerard should had at least known not to trust pre-teens with items of value and/or importance. Gerard was a reckless and moderately naive teenager, but I think he would have figured that at the very least.

And it's not as if I even purposefully wrecked the thing, I was just lying to buy myself a little extra time to retrace my steps and find the goddamn thing. Unfortunately, Gerard had retraced the situation before I could even stumble backwards. 

"What did he do to you then?" Gerard was definitely in search of a confession; there was no denying that. Perhaps, he was getting revenge for the cursed confession regarding a certain Frank Iero, whom he doesn't mention anymore, or maybe he was just bored. Gerard gets concerningly mad when he's bored, and it's particularly the most pleasant of things to witness.

"He-he-he..." Fuck, I soon came to the awfully uncomfortable realisation that I would in fact end up having to admit the truth to my overly skeptical and unfortunately suggestive older brother. I didn't want to tell this to anyone, I could barely even get the guts to discuss it with Pete, let alone confess it to Gerard. But Gerard was persistent, and somethings, they just demanded to be said.

The words would tap on the inside of my closed lips, until eventually it hurt too much to let them in any longer, and the words came pouring out in some sort of dysfunctional waterfall of confessions and embarrassment.

"He kissed me." Gulp. Eyes down. Cheeks red. Inhale. Exhale. Remind myself that breathing was necessary. Inhale. Exhale. Silence. Fuck.

"So you're smiling because you finally got a decent reason to get rid of him...?" I hated how I wished that this was true, and I hated how I hated that. I was glad Gerard eventually let his words penetrate the silence, and thank god for that too, despite how little I wanted to hear my brother's reaction to this, or even know my brother had a reaction to it, I was just awfully and desperately glad to be rid of the ear-splitting silence. 

"No..." I couldn't just- fuck... I had to. I had to confess my fucking sins to Gerard, and dear god this was excruciating. "I kissed him back. More than once actually..." My words slowly trailed off as our eyes met. I wasn't sure what to expect from Gerard, but at least with him being as blatantly homosexual as he was, he couldn't be homophobic at the very least, but he was my brother and an irritating one at that, so he would just let this slide by with a shrug and a nod. Gerard really wasn't like that at all.

"I called it!" Gerard's voice called from the heavens in a manner that likened him to some sort of gay angel, but I was very certain of the fact that he was called Gerard and not Castiel.

"I fucking called it - you little pansy, you." He ruffled my hair in a weirdly affectionate manner in comparison to what he was saying. Gerard was certainly not the most conventional of older brothers, or people, for that matter, but then again, I don't think he'd be Gerard without that unconventionality.

"Shut up." There was no denying the fire truck red colour my cheeks were burning. It was embarrassing as hell, and there wasn't even anything I could blackmail Gerard with that was vaguely morally okay - Frank was most definitely off limits, and that statement was taken unfortunately literally by Gerard's life.

"Awh, Mikey’s in love." He cooed and I felt myself close to slapping him, but my arm was weighed down with the weight of what felt like several thousand invisible bricks, and the sofa was comfy and warm. Gerard's face was not. It was cold, spotty and just a little greasy.

"So are you finally in a relationship then, little bro?" He winked at me, falling further back into the sofa, letting the back cushion consume his whole body raw.

As a new-born, mum literally lost me within the cushions of the sofa, and I'm pretty sure that's the reason she didn't have another kid, well along with the fact that Gerard was quite possibly the most argumentative and downright rebellious pre-schooler nature could ever concoct. I on the other hand, was apparently a breeze in comparison to Gerard, but in comparison to Gerard, raising a baby alligator could be a 'breeze'.

"I don't know..." The truth hit me as I relayed it to Gerard, because there was the fact that I really did not know as to what the hell was specifically going between Pete and I at all. I also wasn't entirely sure that Pete would be one for a relatively mature discussion, you know, with being Pete and all. "Pete- well, we didn't exactly specify any details or anything... it was just..."

"Yeah, Pete's not exactly that good with words." Gerard noted, a smirk twitching and tugging at the corners of his lips like an impatient terrier, eager for you to throw a ball for it again. I was just awfully curious as to what the hell could possibly be tugging this smirk, but if it's concerning both Gerard and Pete, I thought it best for my sanity that I didn't know.

"I noticed." Pete's poetry was apparently a no show entirely, not that this was something I was entirely disappointed about, considering the fact that it'd probably be not far off the literary equivalent of dog shit. I say not far off, because nothing can be quite as bad as Twilight.

"I'm kind of glad I don't have to put up with another fucking cutesy couple though." This was the first time Gerard had addressed Ryan and Frank's relationship, even indirectly, and I wasn't quite sure if this was acceptance of just subtly expressed jealousy.

I was just glad he addressed it via the means of indirect couple bashing as opposed to directly and screaming at Frank, because we all know just how well that worked last time.

"Oh come on, I'm sure there's someone you've got your eye on." The words kind of slipped out as some sort of haphazard way of comforting him, and only afterwards did I quite realise that my words really wouldn't have the intended effect, because relationships (almost ones specifically) were rather a touchy subject with Gerard, and I'd imagine the same would be with Frank, not that I'd spoke to the guy since the 'incident'.

"Well..." Gerard just flushed a pinkish colour, my words apparently not fazing him as much as I suspected they would. Perhaps he was even over Frank- no, that really was a long shot. It'd taken him ages to get over Frank, let alone find someone else; there was even a part of me that doubted he ever would.

"I got asked on a date today-" Well, it looks like I just got proven completely wrong then, but in this case, for Gerard's sake, I wasn't going to let the stubbornness get to me.

"You what? How? You never even leave the house?" I was mildly jealous, despite having Pete metaphorically attached to me by the hip, however I assumed that later the aforementioned statement wouldn't quite be so metaphorical soon enough, especially if Pete had anything to do with it, which, unfortunately, he would.

"We ran out of coffee." What else? Gerard's caffeine addiction was really concerning, and it was even backfiring onto me; my demand for caffeinated beverages had increased rapidly over the past twelve months, or in Gerard's terms, ever since mum bought instant coffee.

Gerard seemed to treat this as the industrial revolution, because there was only one problem with Gerard's constant need to have coffee every moment, well apart from the health risks and the addiction, but that was the fact he'd need to make it. Someone as lazy and impatient as Gerard did not like waiting for a kettle to boil, dear god.

I rolled my eyes at him; his coffee addiction was ridiculous, but at the very least, at least caffeine was legal.

"Of course it was that. So are you going on this date?" I was awfully curious regarding who would actually invite someone like Gerard on a date; especially in the state I imagined someone like him would drag himself down to the shop in search of another desperate fix of caffeine.

"I don't know if I should or not." He mumbled, his eyes drifting to floor, leading me to realise just how little experience Gerard had regarding the dating world, but then again, I had half of what he had. Frank just came into his life rather like a five foot four, cute, wrecking ball with good music taste and an attraction to guys who wore eyeliner and had severe caffeine addictions (if Ryan drank coffee I was calling identity fraud).

"Why? Come on, it'll cheer you up - a date's just a date. You don't have to fuck him or something." I was far too keen to get Gerard out of the house, partly to cheer him up and partly because I wanted to see Pete again, and I don't think Gerard would even consider letting him in without a seriously thorough interrogation, regarding matters that I'd really rather my older brother didn't know about.

"Yeah... I just. It's a she." His eyes met mine, and his cheeks went scarlet. Dear god, now this was something that by the looks of it, neither of us were expecting. An actual female was interested in Gerard? Girls tended to have hygiene requirements and shit didn't they? I was just awfully confused as to how in the hell this had actually occurred, or whether Gerard had been hallucinating due to caffeine withdrawal.

"You little pansy, you." I mimicked and he gave me a playful nudge, the menacing eyes shortly followed. We were really just a pair of homosexuals, though, weren't we? It was actually ridiculous and I just loved the fact that mum didn't at all mind, and in fact she practically shipped us with Frank and Pete.

It was getting creepy, maybe to the extent I'd have to check her internet history and just pray she didn't get a Tumblr. Can mums even get Tumblr? Now that was something I didn't want to think about.

"I just don't know what my sexuality is... I don't know if I like her... I mean she's pretty and she has a sense of humour, but fuck-" He was rambling now, and I doubted he'd ever stop without some form of brotherly intervention, even if it was of an impolite and slightly forceful nature, but then again, Gerard would get nowhere without me, and the same goes the opposite way without a question.

"Just go." Our eyes locked in a sincere gaze, my eyes screaming at him to just fucking stop being a princess and take the goddamn opportunity.

"A date isn't commitment, Gee." But deep down, I didn't think it was the commitment that was scaring him. Deep down, I guessed that maybe, it was just the fact that she wasn't Frank. He'd never admit this, of course, so I'd just be left to my own assumptions.

"Do you think I should? She wants to meet me tonight - I haven't texted her back yet." He pulled his phone out from his pocket, which only led to convince me that maybe Gerard was just a little into this girl, even if she wasn't Frank, even if she was female and even if she was just a hallucination. Well, okay maybe the latter wasn't the best of circumstances, and maybe that one would have to be crossed off, but I didn't think Gerard was quite that insane yet.

"Yeah, text her back, but take a fucking shower first." I meant this one; I knew just enough about girls to know that personal hygiene mattered an awful hell of a lot to them.

This would be a concept Gerard would find quite hard to grasp, and things probably wouldn't work out due to this fact. Not to sound pessimistic, but it's really not that far too being true. "Also a little background info on her would be appreciated?"

"She's called Lindsey, black hair, brown eyes, and a bit shorter than me, kind of cute." I raised my eyebrows trying not to remind myself as to whom else pretty much fit that description entirely - someone Gerard had messed things up with, someone called Frank Iero.

"Good luck." I winked at him, wondering whether this Lindsey could actually be attracted to my pig of a brother and for god knows what reason why. This fact would haunt me and confuse me eternally, but I didn't want to be any more pessimistic than I already was, so I just pushed these thoughts into the furthest corners of my brain and left them to rot.

"What's that supposed to mean? That I need it?" He raised his eyebrows at me, and I had to force myself not to downright agree with him. You could blame my natural instinct though, because to agree with him, would be the truth; Gerard wasn't exactly the best when it came to dating, but what could I say? I was the virgin, here; much to Pete's annoyance, as well.

"I'm just being polite, Gee." I felt a smirk creeping over the corners of my lips; I liked winding my brother up far too much, but he was my brother so it was kind of regulation... compulsory and shit. It's not like it didn't go both ways as well - Gerard really did make sure of that, being the little princess he was, of course.

"Sure you are, Mikey." He narrowed his eyes at me in suspicion, and he had every right to be suspicious, just as I had every right to find his suspicion terribly amusing. As you can tell, maybe I'm not the nicest of people, but you know what? I'm going to blame Pete - he's an awfully bad influence, you know? With the dick jokes and Breaking Bad episodes, I swear I'm on the fast track to hell right now.

"Will you just shut up and text her?" I exclaimed, far too excited to know that my brother may quite possibly be getting laid tonight, which definitely didn't sound quite so weird initially, but whatever.

It was actually kind of weird to think of the possibility that Gerard might get a girlfriend, because Gerard was literally the opposite of straight, the epitome of gay itself nested in my caffeine addicted and lazy older brother.

"If you don't shut up, I'll being texting Pete about your little moment of intimacy." Oh god, Pete would probably enjoy receiving that text and along with that would make no hesitance in replying to Gerard with no details excluded.

"Dear god, I hate you." I had to, because with siblings it was only natural, and practically regulation. Gerard and I were most certainly no exception to this.

"I know you do, Mikes, I know you do."

-

"Pete, remind me again as to why I'm in your garage?" I looked around at the grey walls of his garage, watching as my words reverberated around the square room. My eyes fixated upon the guitar in the corner; it was a bass guitar, coloured flamboyantly in black and red.

I came to find myself wondering just how someone like Pete Wentz come have come across such a noticeably expensive guitar, and after a few moments of pondering the aforementioned, I found myself pushing the thoughts aside and deciding that maybe it'd be better if I didn't know.

"Just wait, other people are turning up-" Other people? Jesus, what the fuck had he been planning here? And since it was Pete, a great chunk of me simply did not want to know, and I think that part was the rational part. Then again, rationality was boring and Pete was not, even if sometimes I'd rather be bored than put up with half the shit Pete throws at me. But he's Pete and unfortunately rather irreplaceable.

"If this is a party, or a gangbang, or a drug festival-" I couldn't be taking any shit from Pete Wentz whatsoever these days, and I just hoped the police hadn't quite grown the brains to figure out that maybe Pete's house having wiretapping should be government priority. I just don't think the government could handle half of the porn he's described to me in great detail. The problem is Pete just doesn't know when to shut up, in fact, I don't even think he has that function.

"Mikey, this is my band; I've invited you to our practice." Oh dear god, didn't Pete telepathically read how attracted I was to band members? Because fuck, music was hot, band members are hot... and kind of, so is Pete. I just never would even consider admitting that to him, because his ego really wouldn't be able to take it all. In fact, it was expand and mutate until it burst into a mess of eyeliner and ego centricity.

"More like you kidnapped me to your practice." He shrugged it off, as he would do, of course. Kidnap seemed to utterly unfaze Pete at all, which was really rather concerning when you thought about it for more than two seconds, which is why I didn't make a habit of doing so.

"What are you called? Breaking Bad Blowjobs? Pete's Pussy Patrol?" I rolled a few absurd band names off the top of my head, and just prayed that Pete hadn't actually gone and called this band something similar to what I called absurd, but with him being Pete, he probably had done, and I didn't know whether laugh or ring the nearest psychiatric ward.

"No, but those are great names - I will take them into consideration-" Oh Jesus. This guy really had boundaries whatsoever, no matter what the subject. And Pete's awfully apparent and total lack of boundaries was really going to end up killing me some day; there was no doubt about it from either of us. Pete just loved taunting me,

"Please don't." I interrupted, my fingers crossed as I hoped the actual band name did actually sound as if it was worthy of both a Nobel Prize and sectioning. The aforementioned two were definitely an odd combination, but they seemed to be the only combination that fit Pete.

"We're called Fall Out Boy." That didn't sound particularly dodgy from first impressions, but with Pete you really could never tell. It actually sounded pretty alright, maybe a band I'd listen to, but with Pete the lyrics would be dodgier than a weed dealer behind a kids nursery, so I wasn't really that sure how on earth I could react when this band actually began practicing.

"And who else is in this band?" I flung the question into reality simply because it demanded to be. I was both eager and terribly nervously to hear as to who the hell would want to make 'music' with someone as mentally and sexually deranged as Pete Wentz. I most likely wouldn't even have heard of these people, considering my social level of a blind tortoise, but it was just the normal thing to ask.

"My friends Patrick, Joe, and Andy." He glanced at the time on his phone, the LED numbers bringing a little more light into the room, that was currently mainly in shadow due to a very faulty set of fairy lights that he'd definitely purchased from a 99p store.

"They're late." He noted, his voice not disappointed but factual, almost as if he'd expected this to happen, and really, considering Pete, I would have expected it too. That's probably not the nicest way to put it, but Pete's sadistic bastard tendencies were clearly rubbing off on me, and maybe I didn't even care that much.

"Or they’re just running away from you." I liked irritating Pete far too much, and I took the opportunity to yet again blame this upon Pete, because well, he's Pete, he's corrupted to hell. He's practically the epitome of corruption, a little bit of forced blame is not going to affect him in any way, shape or form or whatever. Perhaps, he'd even accept it as a compliment; it sounded absurd but then again, so was Pete.

"Don't even think about it - the door's locked." He could sense my eyes magnetising towards the door as I weighed my chances of escape. He'd got awfully perceptive when it came to my thoughts and emotions recently and it really wasn't the best of things to know about. At the very least, I was glad he wasn't an actual mind reader or psychic or something of the like, because then, well I'd really be in some shit. In my head there are thoughts that are keep that was, as private thoughts, for a goddamn reason.

"That's really disturbing - how much this is like a kidnap. I really should be concerned. This is concerning." The words fell from my lips in a waterfall of rambles as I attempted to express my emotions within a mildly coherent manner. As expected, this really was not my forte. Thinking about it, I didn't really have a forte, other than procrastination and excessive coffee drinking.

This was actually startling as I came to realise just how blatantly downhill my productive and hopeful life was going. I chose not to think about it though, because I had awfully more important things to concern myself with right now, things such as Pete Wentz.

"So's your dick." Thank you, Pete. I wasn't sure how he could possibly bring himself to make such a harsh assumption, considering he hadn't even laid eyes upon my painfully fabulous dick. It was a surprise worth waiting for, even if Pete could never quite wait long enough, being an impatient bastard and all that shit.

"You haven't even seen it." I planned things to stay this way, well at least for quite a while now; Pete was far too eager considering just how little we knew one another. We hadn't even done cheesy coffee dates and shit yet - there was no way an episode of Breaking Bad was coming anyway near him before that. So maybe I had found my forte: living as a walking cliché.

"Unfortunately so." Pete grumbled, and it did both amuse and concern me as to just how much this pissed Pete off. It was actually rather startling as to just how constantly desperate this guy could be - it was ridiculous, and not at all attractive... most of the time.

Sometimes, he was actually quite cute. But only sometimes, I wasn't going soft or giving in to the 'Wentz Charm' or whatever other form of bullshit he could possibly concoct, and most likely will in the near future.

"Thankfully, you mean." I corrected him with stern eyes that drilled straight past his eye sockets and back out the other end of his skull. He just sighed in an amusingly diva like fashion, which reminded me an awful lot of Gerard, which was really quite uncomfortable, considering just how painfully attracted I was to the twat that was Pete Wentz.

"Whatever - I'll see it someday." He sounded awfully sure of his words and himself, which only gave me all the more incentive to pull on a devious smirk and try my hardest to prove him wrong. I loved proving Pete wrong; it was stupidly entertaining and never quite failed to keep a smirk settled upon my lips. His sadistic tendencies were most definitely rubbing off on me - that was for sure.

"Are you sure about that?" I raised my eyebrows at him in skepticality, because I was the one who'd be making sure of these things, Pete would just have to be a good little princess and deal with it.

"I’m very sure." He pressed a quick kiss to my lips, not quite giving me enough time to inhale all that was good about him - the smell, the taste, before it was all gone, his lips were gone from mine and I didn't like it, I didn't like it at all. And then the thrash of cold air from the backdoor opening hit me over the head like a baseball bat. And shortly after I heard footsteps; three guys walking in with instruments - Pete's band I had assumed.

"Ah, I told you this band had members, Mikey." He smirked, gesturing towards the three guys who had just walked in. I had concluded that the Pete Wentz smirk was quite possibly the most irritating thing in existence upon this whole fucking planet, and I think that's exactly what made it quite so special. Pete would argue otherwise, but I wasn't going to let him.

"That's Mikey?" A guy with a mildly overgrown mop of brown curly hair raised his eyebrows as he scanned me over. I felt exposed; more exposed than I would do with Pete seeing me naked, because he'd probably already spent days visualising that to the most realistic and finite detail.

However, I didn't know a thing about these guys, despite the fact they were Pete's friends, and really that wasn't the most reassuring of things at all.

"Yeah... I am..." I mumbled out, wondering as to what the hell could possibly follow my confirmation of identity. How the hell would these people even react to me, and if they were anything like Pete, I should be scared, I should be hella fucking scared, but I wasn't because Pete was here, despite the fact that that was the original problem.

"I'm impressed." A guy with short brown hair joined in with the commentating upon my existence. This was not something I particularly enjoyed, and really didn't do any wonders for my continuously and rather rapidly dwindling self-confidence. Pete did know how to boost it up though with some casual Wentz style flirting and a Breaking Bad offer - an offer I'd decline, yet appreciate nonetheless.

"Wait... what?" I raised my eyebrows at Pete who only smirked - there was definitely something fishy going on here. Had Pete introduced me as his fucking mother in law or something? Hell, I didn't know. I mean, I'm sure the awkward lesbian thing wasn't that noticeable, especially after I'd showered.

"How exactly did you introduce me?" I fired the question directly at him with a stern gaze to match. He wanted to break eye contact but I didn't let him. The two of us waited in a bubble of silence for three very prolonged seconds until the words finally departed from his lips.

"I introduced you as my private prostitute." Jesus fucking Christ, of course he did. Why the hell had I ever considered befriending Pete Wentz? What had possessed me? Pete Wentz. Yeah, that sounded awfully about right.

I could kill Pete and his powers of persuasion, suggestion, flirting and that box set of Breaking Bad. I wanted to say I would rather read Pride and Prejudice than be in this situation, but that was a downright lie; I'd rather jump off the Eiffel Tower than read Pride and Prejudice, which really left me screwed, didn't it?

"Actually," Short brown hair spoke up again, "I think the word you used was boyfri-" -end. Boyfriend. Whoa. Pete had actually? I felt like a thirteen year old girl who just found out her crush likes her, and I almost found myself fighting the urge to physically jump up and down with glee.

"Shut up, Andy." And I think that was the first time I'd ever seen Pete blush. It was really very cute - there was no fucking way of denying that at all. It was just weird to use a word as innocent as 'cute', to describe someone as corrupted as Pete Wentz.

He turned to me, blush still painfully intact, and a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, "so that's Andy, and this dickhead is Joe," he pointed to the curly haired guy who'd spoken first, "and this is Patrick, he's kind of shy and considerably less of an asshole."

The ginger haired guy with glasses whom I now knew as Patrick chuckled a little at that. He smiled and waved awkwardly at me - at least someone here was vaguely sane, but first impressions could really change, couldn't they?

Pete grabbed his bass guitar as the others set up their instruments. I watched as he looked me directly in the eye, turning around to the others, exchanging thumbs up and nods after a way moments, before he turned back to face me and said, "this one's called '7 Minutes In Heaven'."

Of course it was, and it felt narcissistic to say, but with Pete there wasn't a doubt - this song was probably about me.

-

Much to my surprise, Fall Out Boy, were actually really good. Pete could actually play bass, and the lyrics were clever and Patrick's voice really did them justice, I was just mildly concerned when it came to Pete's occasional groping of Patrick.

I hoped it was just stage-gay or Pete being Pete, because only now did I realised just how awfully attached I was to Pete. He wouldn't let this go easily of course, so I decided it for the best not to tell him.

"What's up, princess?" My thoughts were interrupted by Pete wrapping his arms around me from behind in a way that succeeded in both making me jump and blush.

He was impossible - downright impossible and also ungodly attractive which were a devilish combination; a devilish combination that without a doubt, would be my end. Pete knew this all too well and really just loved abusing it, as of course he would, being the little bastard he is.

"Will you ever stop calling me that?" I grumbled, turning around to face him and feeling just a little flustered at the abundance of personal space I had with Pete centimetres away from me. I wasn't complaining; as such, having Pete up, close and personal really wasn't a cause for complain.

I just loved to protest a little, and as Pete would unfortunately say, I was a little princess. It was just a very gay thing- well, we were a very gay thing... it was just awfully feminine, and even I deserved the tiny shred of masculinity I had left somewhere in this lanky awkward lesbian body.

"Nah, I think it suits you." It kind of did, but that wasn't going to make me agree, because I was far too stubborn for Pete Wentz, and that just goes without a doubt. Anyway, I really couldn't be a princess without a tiara - it just wouldn't be morally right.

Then again, nothing really does quite seem to be morally right anymore, and strangely enough, I don't even seem to mind that much at all. Pete's corruption must be secondhandly corrupting me, and maybe that wasn't even much of a reason to complain, because if Pete was corruption, corruption was a hella good thing.

Morals would disagree, but sometimes morals were wrong, and I think that most definitely, this was one of those times, despite the fact I was naive enough to argue that fact regardless. And again, I found myself blaming Pete.

"You're weird." I pouted ridiculously, in turn just making me look even more like a princess, so really my words were having very little to no effect, but that really would not stop me from trying.

"It doesn't suit me." The words came out firmly, but inside I wasn't at all that sure, and there was just this little part of me that found it cute, that found Pete cute, which found this all cute, and therefore was pretty much blind... but somehow in a cute way. Does that make sense to anyone else, because it most certainly doesn't make any to me?

"You're weirder..." He paused, letting a smirk overtake his lips, a word poised behind them, and even I could guess exactly what the word would be. It'd be nothing other than the word I hated, the cutesy taunt, Pete's signature move - it'd be, "princess." I wanted to slap him, but I couldn't quite bring myself to ruin that perfectly sculpted face of his.

"Shut up!" He just giggled and it was kind of hella cute so I didn't press the matter; Pete Wentz was blinding me with cuteness, now this was downright ridiculous. I wouldn't stand for this, but I did, I really fucking did. "You know what is weird, though-" A smile concocted itself upon my lips, as memories of Gerard and a certain Lindsey passed through my mind.

"What?" I rolled my eyes - he couldn't keep his mouth shut for more than two seconds. Pete was actually ridiculous - genuinely, fucking ridiculous. What I do with this guy I didn't know and what he wanted to do with me, quite frankly, I did not want to know, but knowing Pete, he'd inform me on a regular basis.

"Shut up and I'll tell you." I waited a moment or two, until I was complacent with his silence, teasing him a little, because I was a nice person just like that. You couldn't blame me, teasing was fun, and when Pete finally got his way, I'm sure there'd be an awful lot of teasing involved.

"Gerard went on a date last night." I finally birthed the words into reality. Pete really raised his eyebrows at that, and I didn't blame him, because Gerard on a romantic date was even more surprising than Pete becoming a nun, but it was the next part that was really the shocker.

"With a girl..." I let the words slowly tumble into reality as a mess of slightly off pitch syllables and unstrung words, because even now it surprised me like hell.

"I thought he was gay." Pete seemed mortified at the decreasing number of guys he could get into his bed, not that my brother was ever qualified for that list in the first place. Because well, he was goddamn fucking brother, even Pete should have boundaries, despite the fact I wasn't sure he even knew the meaning of the word.

Actually, I knew he didn't. Hmm... Maybe I should aim a dictionary at his face or would that be a little harsh? Harsh - another word not in the Wentz dictionary.

"So did he, actually." Pete definitely seemed shocked by that one, and was probably regretting a thankfully missed 'opportunity'. Doing my brother was not an opportunity - it was plain weird, maybe even slightly treasonous, or was that a little over the top - I just didn't know anymore.

"I was the one who convinced him to go. I haven't a clue how it went, though - he was still asleep when I left." Gerard being Gerard was curled up under seven blankets like some sort of dysfunctional caterpillar, not quite ready to leave his cocoon. When Gerard did get up, he was hardly a butterfly though, kind of more of an emo moth.

"Do tell me how it went. Also who the hell is this girl?" Pete's fascination in this matter concerned me just a little, was he too going on a sexuality reverb and chasing after my brother's not quite girlfriend, or was he just interested in my brother. You couldn't tell with Pete... my boyfriend Pete. My life really was just the definition of dysfunctional - there was no doubt about that at all.

"She's called Lindsey. Gerard says she's 'cute', with black hair and brown eyes, and she's shorter than him." I relayed Gerard's description of Lindsey to Pete, cringing just a little with every word- what if they'd have se- no.

They wouldn't have - this was Gerard, not Pete, but there was no telling how drunk he could have gotten, was there? Jesus, why was I always the one picking up the pieces?

"Remind you of anyone?" Pete and I just shared a look, because we both knew and we both didn't want to know, but we still found ourselves in a situation like this, maybe just because life was like that.

We remained with locked eyes for what felt like far too long for it to be anything but awkward; at least I could make good use of oogling him for a good silent thirty seconds, and as he was Pete, I imagined- knew he was doing much the same for me, most likely even worse - he was probably imagining me naked or something else I equally did not want to think about-

"Yeah." I sighed into the silence, interrupting my very unsilent thoughts, who thankfully now took the initiative to shut up.

"I don't want to think about it - maybe he just has a type." I didn't want to think about Frank anymore - it wasn't out of spite, it was stop the guilt weighing down on me until I simply collapsed into a heap of guilt and mess.

"Maybe, but I think his type is men only." Pete confessed, a smirk not far off the corners of his mouth, as always, because he was Pete and this was the standard, but then again, with Pete, everything was at face value, so you could thank him for that at the very least.

"Is that just a subtle way of saying that you want to fuck my brother?" Knowing Pete there wasn't a doubt that it wasn't, because Pete was just painfully irritating like that. It was a given quality with a high school drop out who's had more sexual partners than passed exams and an unfortunately recurring Breaking Bad addiction.

"Well... if you're off the market-" I sent him a real death glare at that - I wasn't off the market, I just had a very, very long and extended sell by date, meaning it was best to save me and use me later- now, that really did just sound kind of creepy.

"I'm not saying I want to... I just wouldn't pass up the opportunity." He smirked that Pete Wentz smirk and I wished I had a throwing knife to physically remove it from his face with.

"Same thing, Wentz, same thing." I reminded him with stern eyes and stern words, because I was Mikey Way and he wasn't getting away with this that easily.

"Wentz? Getting kinky are we, Way?" He bit his lip in exaggerated seduction with the only purpose of making me uncomfortable, and he really did a good job of it - there was no doubt about that for sure.

"In your dreams."

"How did you know?" Dear fucking god - Pete Wentz was genuinely fucking impossible.

-

It was 5pm and Gerard still wasn't awake yet - I hadn't the heart to wake him and I'd been without human contact since Pete left for his shift at the comic store, which was actually ending soon. Maybe I should surprise him or something, or was I just getting far too elaborate in my new methods of procrastination?

That copy of Pride and Prejudice seemed like it would actually never be read, which was both depressing and enlightening - enlightening how I'd sort of just managed to accept my ultimate state of failure as a very lazy and mildly homosexual human being... or awkward lesbian, whatever Pete says.

I just really did not want to read that goddamn book, though. I'd end up admitting defeat and watching the film, Jesus Christ, and even with that, I'd still absolutely spectacularly fail, much to my professor's sadistic delight.

I probably wouldn't even make it through the film without falling instantly asleep, despite the fact that to everyone's surprise, I'd actually managed to get seven whole fucking hours of sleep last night, but with the state I was in yesterday, it was kind of to be expected - it was just surprising that God had been nice enough to actually allow my brain to shut up long enough for the clutches of sleep to claim me.

Regardless of the fact that there were still at least a hundred unread pages of Pride and Prejudice, I found myself waiting outside Pete's house for his arrival home. It was a mildly stalkerish thing to do, but overall, I couldn't quite find the capacity to care, and I couldn't find the capacity to care about my capacity to care.

I came to wonder exactly what I'd say to him when he eventually returned and as to whether he'd think I was terribly insane, but it didn't matter, because Pete was definitely the definition of insanity with just half of the things he'd said to me on a regular basis. There was no doubt about that whatsoever, despite what he might argue.

After nearly twenty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Pete Wentz, I began to become unfortunately rather concerned, even letting the unlikely thought that he could have been murdered past my mind, despite the fact that most likely he'd probably just gotten in before I had even arrived. I was horribly neurotic at times. Even if Pete was getting murdered, he'd probably be giving the murderer a blowjob right now, because boundaries and social rules simply weren't relevant in the world of Pete Wentz.

I pressed down on the doorbell, and even after a minute there was no answer. I knocked on the wood, ignoring my slightly bruised knuckles for a minute, and even then there was no reply. Pete wasn't there, but then I came to realise that the door had in fact been left open- fuck, had he been murdered inside of his house?

Was the murderer still there? Was the murderer still a virgin? These were all important questions regarding the apparent emptiness of Pete's house. I probably shouldn't go, maybe call the police or something - or was that a bit too extreme? Fuck...

I disregarded these thoughts and just walked into Pete's house, which still smelled rather pungently of scented candles and I began to wonder if he burned to death due to the awfully apparent fire hazard he called romantic. This could quite possibly be one of the worst ideas I've ever had, and I could even have the possibility of not ever leaving the house... alive.

I started to explore the rooms and generally nose through Pete's possessions and things I'd rather not be aware of the existence of, particularly a large amount of the items in the bathroom, but every room was devoid of life, and I was beginning to give up and suspect that Pete had simply been murdered elsewhere.

But when I walked into the living room, I got the shock of my life... Pete was shirtless; Patrick was on top of him, also in minimal amounts of clothing. I just what the fuck...? I didn't know how to react, I could react - I was just there and there were too. I felt like floating straight out of reality, but of course I couldn't... I just existed.

I wanted to look away but I couldn't.

I wanted to say something but I couldn't.

I just was stood there, my world shattering and watching as Patrick's eyes widened as he noticed my presence. Pete then stopped, causing him to notice me too.

Our eyes met only for a second, but it was the most painful second I've ever endured, because this heartbreak, a loss of trust, all my world collapsing all at once - questions that shouldn't be answered surfacing and a mind scattered with thoughts that made little to no sense.

Did I really just mean nothing to him?

It couldn't be. I didn't want it to be - I was selfish. So was he; this proves it. Pete Wentz is a selfish, selfish creature. We are. I was selfish to want him; he was selfish to want Patrick.

"Mikey-" He stammered out into the silence, but I didn't care, I couldn't care - I should have known, though. This was Pete, it was bound to happen. He, himself had said that commitment wasn't his thing, and he was most certainly making that quite clear right now.

I just didn't like how clear he was making it - I could have lived with it little fuzzier than this, but Pete had no respect for that. Pete had no respect for me and I had very little respect for him now.

"Oh." I forced one simple word out of my lips before my eyes drifted to the ground and I stood like a statue, unsure what to do or how to live on from here. I wanted Pete, I needed Pete, but I couldn't have him now, not anymore - that was unfortunately clear.

"I can explain-" He tried and I didn't let him. We were done, that was quite clear... or maybe there never even was a 'we' in the first place, whatever - there was definitely nothing left now... he'd even bothered to burn the ashes.

"Don't." I had to stop him; I couldn't cope with this, I couldn't cope with him - this was all a major fucking headache and one that no amounts of Advil would ever quite solve. This was a permanent headache, this wasn't even a headache at all... it was a big old case of heartache.

"Mikey-" He was Pete, so he tried to get his point through once again; oblivious to my protests and far too stubborn to accept that he'd messed up. That he'd messed up hella bad - bad enough to make this over, to make us over. There wasn't even an us anymore, that's how messed up things had gotten.

"I said don't!" I raised my voice, glaring at him with eyes that glistened with anger; I liked hating Pete Wentz, because it was surely a hell of a lot easier than loving him - Pete didn't do love, which was now rather apparent; Pete Wentz was a creature of selfishness, jealousy, and lust.

"You don't do commitment; I'd figured that out by now." I was pretty much screaming at him, as a flushing Patrick pulled on his jeans in an out of place modest attempt to make himself slightly less naked.

Pete, however was content just sitting here with his bare chest on display; he probably thought he could win me back with looks alone, but trust me - that was not going to happen at all.

"I'm sorry, this was just a mistake-" He spoke like Patrick wasn't centimetres away from him, and I didn't like that, because Patrick had feelings too.

Patrick wasn't a mistake, it was trusting Pete that was his mistake, as was mine. I should have run whilst I could, but I was ignorant and hopeless, and Pete was quicksand, pulling me down and keeping me there with endless flirtations, a Breaking Bad box set and a cell phone number.

"Was I a mistake too?" I really wondered as to what answer he could possibly concoct that he could imagine would fix this in any way, because there was no denying this all - that I was nothing. Nothing to him... I wasn't special - I was just like Patrick.

I began to wonder just how many people he had going on at the same time, and soon enough I realised that I simply didn't want to know. You couldn't blame me.

"No-" Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.

Pete Wentz was a liar and a terrible, stinking terrible one at that. I should have sniffed this all out sooner, but I was naive, I was stupid, I was stubborn and Pete Wentz was a liar.

"How can I believe you now, how can I believe you at all-" I couldn't express my emotions at all, and Pete just couldn't understand - he was expressionless, emotionless and empty shell of selfishness and lying... and fucking immature flirtations that made me want to punch him in the face on a regular basis.

"Don't act so pissy it wasn't as if we were 'official' or anything, cool it." Those were the words that broke my heart, and they did an awfully good job of it.

In fact, they didn't just break my heart, they shattered it into a million glass shards for me to step on and cut my feet open into bloody messes, and then I'd curse myself for being stupid enough to walk on glass with bare feet in the first place.

And that just summed up my relationship with Pete, so I deserved the fall really.

"So I'm really just your personal prostitute?" I tried to fight back the tears but I just couldn't manage it anymore; I looked pathetic, I knew I looked pathetic, but Pete was pathetic - the epitome of pathetic, in fact.

He'd lied, he'd led me on, and I didn't dare to imagine as to what would have happened if I actually ended up sleeping with him.

It was weird to think that if I didn't decide to somehow go and 'surprise' Pete after work, then none of this would have happened at all, and I wouldn't have gotten the 'surprise' of my life.

I wondered if as soon as Patrick left, Pete would be texting me and I'd be putting down my copy of Pride and Prejudice and listening to his stupid voice flirt with me and tell me I'm pretty until three in the morning, because I was an insecure little shit and I found I needed that, but I didn't need him.

I didn't need him at all.

"I thought I loved you, but it was just how you looked in the light. I despise you, Pete Wentz." I despised how much of a mess I looked with tears clouding up the lenses of my glasses; I despised how it was he who made me this way. It was both humiliating and ridiculous, and I just downright hated it... and him.

I hated him, more than he could ever know, or wanted to let that inflated ego of his admit.

"Whatever, bitch." He rolled his eyes and moved back to Patrick, who to my surprise backed away. At least one of us was going to take a stand against his flirtations and continuous attempts to get into bed with whoever he made eye contact with.

Patrick had some decency at the very least; I was just shocked because he actually seemed like the nicest of all of the members of ‘Fall Out Boy’, and now... just fuck... Pete had even introduced me as his boyfriend so there was no confusion there. I'm just beyond shocked and very hopeless.

"Don't." Patrick's reply surprised me and confused Pete, who just couldn't understand as to why anyone wouldn't want his cheating, lying asshole. I, on the other hand, had plenty of reasons, his one am phone calls being one of them, and his commitment issues a close second- sleep was important, okay.

"I said don't!" Patrick threw his shirt back on, getting up and almost scrambling away from Pete in a desperate manner that almost broke my heart, because Pete was an asshole and despite the circumstance, Patrick didn't deserve him at all.

"I'm leaving as well." His words were sternly and his eyes locked directly with Pete's; he meant it and he wanted Pete to be more than sure of that.

"Leaving me or the house?" Pete was still trying to make this a light-hearted matter - I fucking hated that guy. He couldn't do this and for god knows what reason; his fucking overly inflated ego couldn’t comprehend that at all. It was ridiculous - he was ridiculous.

I wished I'd never gone to that fucking comic store ever; there'd be no confession to fuck up Frank and Gerard, and no Pete to fuck me up. Things would have been better that way, but no fucking Gerard needed his fucking 'limited edition' comics- fuck. I couldn't blame it on him, this wasn't his fault... this was mine. It was all on me.

"We weren't 'official' or anything - cool it." Patrick's mimicked words came out like a bolt of lightning, striking Pete directly through the heart, and then, I decided that I really quite liked Patrick.

He didn't react at all. He just sat there shirtless and shocked... and alone. He deserved it; he deserved it so much, I almost smirked at the sight of him - completely astounded as how anyone could turn his arrogance, lying little bastard ass down. Dear god, I hated him more than I could possibly even fathom upon expressing.

We made no hesitance in leaving, dashing for the door before Pete could tempt us back in with drugged coffee and Breaking Bad box sets, and slamming the door on a shirtless and alone Pete Wentz was quite possibly the most satisfying thing I've ever done, despite the situation. But the situation didn't quite matter, it was the revenge that did.

-

The cold air was refreshing. I was glad to finally rid my respiratory system of that pungent scent of rotting scented candle that seemed to occupy Pete's house eternally. I coughed a little, releasing all the toxins of Pete Wentz into the world and out of my organs - I was glad to finally be over with him and what I'd just done felt as good as hell- well, what we'd just done. There was still the matter of Patrick to sort out.

Patrick knew he was guilty here, looking at me sheepishly behind black rimmed glasses, his cheeks tingeing a rosy pink. I didn't want to be angry at him, especially as he seemed so innocent, but Pete had trained me against this - to never trust anyone ever... even if they're cute.

Especially if they're cute.

"Why did you let him... kiss you?" I fired the question at Patrick without fear, yet my eyes daren’t go anywhere near his - a true coward at heart.

I think maybe I felt just a little guilty and maybe that was just a little more guilty than I should have felt but I found myself in a state of not at all caring that much.

"You knew about me and him..." I was just confused, and to add to that, I hated vocalising the fact that Pete and I were ever considered an item, even if only just in my eyes. It hurt - it hurt like hell and stung like a bitch.

"It's Pete... you're not allowed to say no." Patrick breathed his words out like a sigh; a sigh of disappointment, regret, and an awful amount of self-hatred.

Patrick wasn't guilty, but he looked as if he was; he felt guilty, but he shouldn't - Pete was quite clearly the one at fault here. Patrick and I were just pawns who gotten mixed up in the wrong games entirely.

"Yeah..." I didn't like to think about this at all, but I found myself in an unfortunate situation where it was the only topic of conversation on the agenda. I didn't want to ask the question that I'd have to ask next, because I didn't want to upset Patrick, I didn't want to make him feel inadequate or guilty; Pete had now done a more than adequate job of that already. "Why did Pete ask you to...?"

"He said you never wanted to do... stuff like that..." His words trailed off, his cheeks filling up with a rosy blush again. Patrick was innocent - far too innocent to be corrupted by Pete, in fact. It just felt unlawful, not right. I hated Pete, and I hated him more for what he'd done to Patrick.

"Yeah, and there's the reason why." I snapped, my words coming out far harsh than I'd initially intended. I'd screwed things up for Patrick as well now... maybe I should just stop speaking entirely.

Maybe the world would be better without my voice ringing throughout it. I didn't know about that, but I knew Patrick definitely would be better without me, without Pete, without any of this.

I began to walk away, wallowing in my bitter sorrow and revenge plans, when Patrick's voice interrupted my spiteful exit. It was a weird sentence, one that really didn't fit, but it brought hope and light in the darkness of Pete's reign, so I let it exist just momentarily.

"Hey Mikey, can I get your number?" Patrick turned around to me and smiled, he smiled that hopeful, nervous smile. The one that was unsure, and I was unsure at first, but then I realised Patrick was just like me, another of Pete's 'victims'.

Mum had been right when she said Gerard wasn't exactly the best at choosing friends. Just remind me to avoid people at all costs in the future; I'll move into the basement and become a hermit with Gerard, much to Mum's ultimate displeasure and total disappointment with both of her sons.

"Yeah sure, you can." I pulled off a smile, which was hard considering the situation and the shattered heart fragments barely able to function inside what felt like a gaping empty hole within my chest. Patrick was actually an alright guy, unlike Pete.

However, Patrick wasn't nearly enough of an asshole to be my type. I was stupid, I feel for the wrong ones. Patrick was cute, but not devilishly cute, not Pete cute.

He handed me his phone and I typed my number in under the contact name of 'Mikey' before handing the object straight back to him, making extra special care as not to drop it, considering how clumsy I was, and just how bad of a first (well, third, but this one was the real introduction) impression that'd make.

"Thanks, I hope you're okay - Pete can be an asshole." His eyes were sincere because he was right. Patrick was a good guy though, just far too innocent, far too innocent for Pete, me or any of this colossally corrupted mess.

"No, he just is an asshole."

-

"Hey, you'll never guess what I got you!" Gerard's over excited voice penetrated my ears as I slammed the door behind me, tears trailing down my face - I looked pathetic and I didn't want him to see me like this. I didn't want him to know what had happened with Pete... well, what Pete had done.

It wasn't a matter of trust or any lack of it, this was me trying to save Gerard from anymore weigh on his shoulders; he already had Frank and Ryan to deal with and I didn't want to watch him cripple from carrying this pile of shit on his shoulders as well.

"What?" I managed to choke out, keeping my face to the door, and just hoping he'd be content with shouting his words across the house as opposed to having a conventional face to face conversation. Gerard was the unconventional type, okay.

The tears were running freely now, and my whole face was red and puffy; the reflection in the silver door handle was only making me grow to despise myself more. This was stupid this was pathetic and it shouldn't be myself whom I was despising - it should be Pete, and it is Pete. There wasn't a doubt about my brewing hated for Pete at all.

"Lindsey had a Pride and Prejudice DVD I managed to 'borrow'." By borrow he meant steal, of course.

Gerard was ridiculous and my bemused and mildly sadistic chuckle blocked out the footsteps in the hall; the sound of Gerard noticing I hadn't left the front door, and he almost sensed that I'd remained here for a reason. Unfortunately, he just couldn't sense that this reason was or his own good.

"First date and you steal from her." Typical Gerard - it amused me nonetheless, and it amused me enough to manage to trick myself into believing that the footsteps weren't there; that they weren't real and that Gerard wasn't going to notice. Gerard would come, Gerard would notice and Gerard would be anything but complacent in the matter.

"Yeah, it wasn't working out." The footsteps had stopped now, and only because his voice was loud enough for him to barely be further than half a metre away from me; I could hear his breathing centimetres away my ear. It scared me, because I didn't want to face Gerard, I didn't want to explain, and I didn't want him to know. Gerard had different ideas, however.

"Mikes, are you okay?" His tone softened as he placed a tentative hand on my shoulder in a weirdly comforting manner.

It wasn't the gesture, it was just Gerard; my big brother matter and I needed him more than anything right now. Without a thought, I spun around and buried my tear stained face into his chest, because no, I was not okay.

"No, I'm not." I mumbled against the fabric of his actually washed for once shirt. He'd actually washed it for Lindsey and for things to not work out was just a pisstake. I know he was blatantly gay and Lindsey had probably realised that within the first five minutes of their 'date', but Gerard didn't make a habit of washing his clothes.

Lindsey should feel honoured: he didn't even wash them for Frank, then again, Frank seemed to be awfully attached to the 'unique' and awfully pungent smell of Gerard. Ryan and his gay man hygiene hasn't got anything on Gerard and his ‘organic and original’ scent.

"What happened?" He ruffled my hair as he held me against his chest. It was comforting and I just took this moment to forget Pete and be thankful that I had a brother like Gerard. He certainly wasn't perfect, but he was damn well the best big brother I could ever ask for - there was no doubt about that one.

"Pete happened." I admitted, the tears coming down like Niagara Falls and giving Gerard's t-shirt its second wash of the year, both of them in the space of two days of course. Maybe I should make a habit of crying into Gerard's shirts; it'd clean them a little at the very least, which would make my moping around at least mildly productive.

"Dear god, that guy. He can make you grin like crazy just twenty four hours ago and now-" Gerard was clueless as to what had actually happened and I wanted it to stay that way, but things weren't so simple and it couldn't, because Pete and Gerard couldn't be friends anymore, it sounded selfish but after what happened, Pete didn't deserve any friends, he didn't deserve anything.

"He cheated on me." I needed to get it out even if it wasn't at the most convenient of times.

Gerard's breathing stopped for a few moments and as my ear was pressed against a chest devoid of a heartbeat, I came to wonder if I'd accidentally murdered my own brother.

"Fuck that bastard!" I chuckled a little at that - Gerard was the best of brothers, there was no doubt about that. He knew when to make a situation light-hearted... Pete didn't. Pete never knew how to react. Gerard was dysfunctional and social awkward in his actions, but even he knew what was morally right to some degree.

"The guy he cheated on me with was from his band, but he's an alright guy - Patrick, you know him?" Patrick was actually really quite nice, and I was considering texting him later, but I think maybe I should turn my phone off, because this wouldn't stop Pete from bombarding me with text messages and voicemails, but at the very least, Gerard wouldn't be here to open the door for him when I didn't pick up.

Gerard would slam that fucking door in his face, and he'd more than deserve it. Mum wouldn't exactly appreciate the body of an unconscious guy at our doorstep when she got in from work, though - I'd leave the explaining to Gerard, of course. He was the oldest anyway, so it was his responsibility.

"No I don't know him, but don't go after another one, Mikes. We can be bitter singles together for a while longer." He chuckled, and I smiled into his shirt - that sounded like a bitter but good idea.

Gerard was my brother, best friend and the only one I could trust, but I think that was for a reason. Nothing was stronger than us; we were invincible together and we didn't need any shitty almost boyfriends fucking up our lives with other guys.

"I liked it when it was like that, things were simpler." I confessed and he nodded, agreeing with me. We just hugged in silence for a few moments; I was content with just knowing I'd always have my big brother and that he'd always have me. Family was more important than anything in this goddamn world.

"Yeah," he pulled away from me after a prolonged silence, his eyes meeting mine to ensure I was okay for one last time. Once he was satisfied, he continued, "I'll go make us some coffee and you put the Pride and Prejudice DVD in and I'll help you take your mind of shit, caffeinate you, and help you pass your course at the same time, aren't I just the best?"

"Yeah, you're my favourite brother." I winked at him, a smirking twitching at the corners of my lips.

"I'm your only brother."

"That's what I meant."

 

-

 

I miss him. And I hated the fact that I did more than anything, because he's Pete fucking Wentz - I shouldn't miss him, I should hate him, I should loathe him, I should despise him, yet I can't bring a single cell in my body to do so. My body barely functions in anything over than loathing and extreme methods of procrastination.

The darkness ensnares me and I love every minute of it, and I feel like a liar to deny that, but one of prejudice to proclaim it. I don't like to feel alone, but this alone has comfort and it smells of nothing in particular, just scents that blend in every day, and it smells like scented nothing - it's delightful.

But Pete Wentz crosses my mind against, and I end up forced into dropping my trivial thoughts regarding scents of my darkened room, and I end up realising just how far into insanity I've fallen.

I haven't just dipped my toes; the current's swept me away entirely. I feel foolish now, but I blame it on sleep deprivation, because I haven't got the heart to point the blame otherwise, and otherwise meaning Pete Wentz, because I always end up blaming him somehow, but only now do I realise that he never deserves it.

I just can't bring myself to forgive myself for this, because somehow Pete fucking Wentz had put a magical spin on it so the whole ordeal is magically my fault again, but what should I expect - he's Pete Wentz and he does that, and even when he's past me, he will continue to do that, because I'm just another guy to him when he was and somehow still is my whole world. It’s sickening, and I feel so used I want to rip my lungs from my rib cage and out my chest.

Part of me just desperately wants him back, and I'm simply doing all I can push that part as far back into the derelict corners of my grey matter as possible. Despite this, it just doesn't go away, and a find myself lost in a mess of paranoia and heartbreak, and fucking Breaking Bad box sets and everything else that screams Pete Wentz like some sort of sadistic foghorn.

My room was only illuminated by the desk lamp, and I hadn't got a clue as to what time of night it was, due to the smashing of my phone as Pete tried for the third time to call and make things better. I couldn't accept the calls, or even see the text messages on my home screen, and it bothered me as the missed calls added up, and I didn't want that, in fact, I simply couldn't take that. It was slowly destroying me, so I destroyed the cell phone.

It was just an object, and I was a human heart, shattered and in a million glass pieces, slowly tearing the fabrics of reality apart, because why not. Why not? Why not tear the whole apart for Pete Wentz? If I can justify it within the frames of my own mind, then somehow it seems fine within the harsh reality out there, and I think that scares me, because with a mind like mine, I find myself just everything and anything these days.

Justification is yet another form of misjudged self-acceptance, and I'm blind to just about everything holy now. I feel the darkness like a friend and the world does nothing but hurt. Perhaps it's the insanity. There does seem to be a reason as to why you shouldn't lock yourself in your room for prolonged periods of time, but now I don't want to remember it - I simply want to rot away with insanity and its legion of demons dressed in angel’s robes.

I think maybe this is insanity, but insanity is madness, confusion and fear. Madness is when man becomes animal, and animal becomes man, but I'm just lost and awfully sad, so awfully sad.

I should've learned not to get attached by now, but I'm a stupid guy stuck inside a stupid head, living in a reality where I'm pretending to be sophisticated like the rest of the world who seemed to have structured everything on people’s opinion on you.

Sometimes I wish I could be Gerard; I'm not sure if now is one of them. Gerard seems to accept madness, embrace it really, and he doesn't pretend he knows what he's doing, because half of the time he doesn't. And he's just a stubborn mess that's far too arrogance regarding his feelings for Frank, and despite the fact that Gerard isn't the most desirable of humans to be, at least he's good at being him.

I'm just Mikey Way and I don't know who I am. I think I'm crumbling, and I say it's Pete's fault, but really it's mine too, because I shouldn't have let myself get anywhere near so attached to one stupid guy. That has realised that I'm a stupid guy before I did.

I'm far too late for all of this, and even now the train has departed the station. I think maybe I'll sit on the tracks. I don't particularly, I just wish for the light at the end of the tunnel to just not be the headlights of another train.

I find myself being a train wreck far too often these days. It's a dreadful habit, like smoking. Gerard does an awful lot of smoking, but somehow he doesn't seem to care about the health risks. Gerard can just do that; take something between his lips like a metaphor and just go for it without the slightest care, and I read the labels, and all the safety precautions, and that makes me change my mind, but with Pete I didn't, and that's exactly where I went wrong.

So I don't know what to do know, or where I could possibly go. This feels like limbo, except I'm not actually trapped. The door isn't even locked; my door doesn't have a lock.

I don't think mum trusts me with a lock; I think it's something to do with Gerard, that she wants to see my face more frequently than on a monthly basis. I don't particularly mind the abundance of a lock though; Gerard always knocks.

It's just the fact that Pete didn't knock when he came into my life - he didn't knock at all, and in fact he barely even let the thought slip over his mind. He lured me in as he did into the comic store; Pete was the rain, the heat, everything that day. That whole day was Pete Wentz's doing, and I come now to realise that I should have never woken up.

Because I didn't want another mess; I didn't want Pete Wentz, I didn't want a catastrophe, yet he took me, and I took him, and I think somehow there's beauty in that, but there's always beauty in destruction. It's like the thorns on a cactus; it protects itself from human eradication. The beauty is what protects the destruction and keeps it alive.

Pete Wentz is a by-product of hearts beating in time, of love, of lust, and the euphoria of a good day. Pete Wentz was never intended, yet somehow he fell straight into my grasp, and somehow God never let me let go of his stupid hand, and his stupid head. And still to this day, I didn't want him, and I didn't want to need him.

I think I do now, though. And I really don't like that.

Everything had slowly become a blur within this room and I knew I'd been in there long, I just wasn't sure as to how long; minutes drifted in hours, and hours drifted into days. And soon enough, I was lost within my own bitter sadness, my longing, my depressing need for stupid fucking Pete Wentz. I think time is a matter ignored when one's mind is preoccupied with other matters entirely.

I think time is irrelevant in most cases, but not now. Time is what's ticking down to my demise, because I know it's inevitable, that by some manner I'll one day leave this room, whether it'll be soon or whether it'll be to the extreme and I'll leave on my very deathbed. That doesn't matter though, I think what matters is the awareness, the fact that you know it will happen.

Acceptance is key on the path to selflessness, because you have to accept that people are going to be better than you, and you have to take that as a fact and not a problem.

I think the problem with society are problems themselves, and no one's quite looked past face value long enough to figure out the blindingly obvious. I can understand it though; people like facades. People like them enough to live under them, live with them, live as them, and some people are facades in their entirety.

Problems are perplexing, and people do tend to underestimate their ability to define something as a problem, because labelling something as a problem is saying that something should be wrong or fixed, or possibly even eradicated. And people don't understand just how that affects everything, because labelling something as a problem is so much deeper than labelling something as a pencil, because a pencil is a physical attribute or state, whereas a problem is a matter of perspective, and people's flaws within it.

I could say Pete Wentz is a problem, but I'm not going to, because Pete Wentz doesn't need fixing. Pete is who he is, and seemingly happy that way. I am going to call Pete Wentz a liar, though, because that's what he is, and maybe a cheater too, but the line really gets blurred when someone asks the question as to how many of these titles he really does deserve.

Because deserving isn't a matter of truthfulness, it's a matter of morals, and deep down I'm left bargaining with myself as to just how cruel I think I can get away with being, and after several minutes I'm still not quite sure enough.

I wonder whether Pete thinks I'm a problem and if so, as to what he thinks my solution is, and what names he calls me. I want to know, but I really don't, but the curiosity is awfully strong within me, and it's almost making me sick. It's odd to say the least, because curiosity is within in our nature, so I wouldn't expect it to necessarily work against me, but when I look at the world through rational eyes, I realise that nothing else could make any more sense.

Without a problem, one can't define a solution, but I think the need for a definite solution is a problem within itself. Things can be resolved without a solution, and mostly things don't need resolving. Pete Wentz needs a second chance, a warning, and maybe some herbal tea, but he doesn't need fixing. 

Pete Wentz doesn't need fixing, I think he needs forgiving. He isn't a problem, he's a person gone astray, and that's all we seem to be within this world. We're like ghosts, because we don't quite fit. We just wander. We're not part of the fabric of the world; we're stitched on and badly at that.

My head was hard to comprehend, because deep down, I still loved him, and I had to put a stop to that, but I just couldn't - no matter how hard I tried, I just fucking couldn't. Then maybe I shouldn't, because loving him isn't a problem, maybe it's a mistake, and I don't even think it's one at that.

I think loving him is an inevitable occurrence; it's a side effect of his existence, and I think what the mistake here is, is that I can't accept that I can do very little about the inevitable. Sure, I can struggle and protest, but it won't do any good in the long run.

I think loving him is a natural reaction, something I was made to do; I think I've just been nurturing it wrong, as has he. I think we just need a second go, a rerun, but I'm not sure how to go about that, and I think maybe I should go to sleep, but I've had far too much caffeine to even consider it, and really that's an awful shame, because my thoughts are really starting to get to me now, and I considering leaving this room, but not quite yet.

I'll stick it out a little longer, for my own arrogance if anything, because I like to think I sound like a philosopher, but really I'm just Mikey Way, and I'm letting myself think, and I begin to wonder why I haven't before, because I was born with a brain and only now have I realised how wonderful it is.

It's just not very practical; it's useless when it comes to Pete Wentz, and I think we're both useless when it comes to the whole relationship thing and we're doing nothing but fumbling in the dark, and now I just find it funny that neither of us thought enough to simply turn on the light.

I think it's hopeless, but so am I. The light can't be reached, because I see the light at the end of the tunnel now, and really it's always just been another train.

I think I'll go to sleep now, or try to at the very least. Trying is not compromise to doing, but I think for now, in this state, just maybe it'll suffice.

-

The silence was interrupted by the rattling of knuckles against wood. I didn't get to sleep, in the end, but really that was no surprise, was it now? It didn't expect to take me quickly, or slowly, or at all.

But it was okay, because I think I just liked lying there and looking at nothingness, and I think I liked this far too much at times, especially how I liked listening to the silence.

That silence is gone now, and there are knuckles, and tapping and human life in its place, and I miss it more than anything because it's empty, and I want to feel empty again, because part of me thinks Pete and this whole ordeal warrants sadness. I disagree, but negativity somehow ends up always being the stronger force.

I don't understand that at all. Positivity should shine through, shouldn't that be right? Shouldn't that be how it works? But now it really doesn't seem like there's a god at all. 

"Mikey?" Gerard. I think he must be wondering if I'm still alive in here; I don't quite blame him - even I don't know quite how long I've locked myself in here for. It's mildly sickening, but I don't care, and I don't want to fix that, because it isn't a problem anymore.

"Yeah, Gee?" I mumbled back in the most enthusiastic tone I could muster. Enthusiasm again was an odd concept, and why people fake it was one that would follow. Hypocrites come shortly after. Ah, hypocrisy - we've finally stumbled upon a talent of mine.

"You've been in here for like two days now, that's worse than me - I leave for coffee, seriously." His words stopped so he could let through a small and quite fake laugh.

He looked worried about me and I didn't like that, because he was Gerard and I didn't like to see the cracks in him. I liked holding onto to his recklessness, but I forget that everyone cracks, and some of us more often than the rest.

"Seriously, are you alright?" He wants to get it out of me and part of me would kill to spill it all out to him, but I don't want to hurt him anymore than he's already been. Gerard still seems like mine to protect, despite the fact that he's clearly the older one.

Gerard just doesn't do the best of jobs when it comes to taking care of himself, and I don't like that he focuses a lot of his time and energy into taking care of me, because I'm just fine- well, actually that's the biggest lie I've told today and it's only- in fact, I haven't a clue what time it is, and quite frankly I haven't a clue as to what today is.

No, I'm not okay.

I want to answer, but I don't. I could never do that to Gerard; he's too important. He matters far too much to me.

"Yes." I lied instead, because lying is easier and negativity has an awful habit of shining through, and I wasn’t going to deny negativity its rightful prize. I'm not that kind of guy, not quite. I think sometimes I'd like to think I am, but despite it all, I don't like lying.

"Mikey." He remained unsatisfied, most likely seeing straight through my pathetic attempts at lying. He is my brother, after all. I think maybe he's trained against this stuff, and then part of me ends up reminding the rest of me that the idea's utterly absurd. I don't mind that much though, I think I like absurd, I think I like madness, I think I like mess, but an organised, pre-planned mess. A mess that defeats the purpose of mess itself, simply because I think the concept's entirely perplexing.

"Do you want to talk?" He continued, his words sliding gracefully between his poised lips, and I notice how unusually happy he looks. I don't push it, because I don't think anything more exciting's happened than us getting a new kettle or something equally as menial to fulfil to caffeine addiction.

He'll die from it, I swear, yet somehow he seems awfully content with that fact. I think he's just content with dying happy; he doesn't care when, as long as he's happy, and really he's braver than I could ever be.

Yes, I want to talk.

I want to spill everything out to him in the biggest mess the whole has ever had the dishonour of witnessing, but I'm not going to do that. Sophistication somehow seems to hold some value here. It's crazy, because neither of us has washed in days, I can't read one fucking book, Gerard swears every four seconds, and I'm here considering sophistication.

"No." I lied again, uselessly as I know he’d end up seeing through whatever many coats of deceit I painted my words with. Gerard's awfully good with things like that - I'm not.

"Are you sure?" He tried again, as he would do, considering his persistence and the situation. I, personally, disagree that the situation requires any form of extra digging, but of course Gerard would have other ideas entirely.

"C'mon Mikey, I know you're lying to me." He guessed right then- fuck. I'm a fucking mess; I'm a fucking lying mess. Everything fucking hurts and despite how much of it I can rationalise upon blaming on Pete Wentz, it forever remains my fault. I hate that, I hate everything and I have everything fucking right to-

And then the first sob broke out. It lapped out, wet human waves upon cold white empty cheeks.

"Are you crying?" His voice suddenly filled with the utmost concern. Gerard cared far too much about me. It almost made me uncomfortable at times, but I think mainly I'm glad, because without him I really would be the biggest mess known to mankind, or dead. Dead would be a possibility.

I think we'd both be dead without each other, coming to think of it, and if that doesn't send shivers down your spine I couldn't fathom as to what else would.

Yes, I was crying and it's bleedingly obvious, and I'm a mess. I'm the biggest fucking mess you've ever seen, and I'm scared you'll run away, but you won't because you're Gerard, you're my brother and I need you more than anything.

"No." My words came out between choked sobs, only to emphasise the fakery behind my words.

I don't think I can actually answer a question without lying anymore, and if that isn't weird to think about, then god knows what isn't. I'm not going to blame Pete though; I think I'll blame myself this time.

"Can I come in?" He has that curious and mildly uncertain tone that reminds me of when we were just kids, and he stole my action figures and I was a stubborn little shit and wouldn't accept his apology for days, but we made up in the end, because we're brothers and we always do.

"N-... Yes." I gave up; I needed Gerard. He was my brother and I damn well needed him more than anything.

Sometimes he seemed like my only lifeline, but I didn't care because sometimes he was the only lifeline I could ever want, because he's Gerard, he's my brother and we're closer than close. He also has this knack of just knowing when I really need a hug, a chat, and some coffee, and that was utterly irreplaceable.

The door clicked open and light flooded the room as he walked in. I felt just a little like a vampire as I found myself squinting and grumbling under the excess of light. I felt like Edward Cullen and I was just waiting to sparkle.

At least then I'd have some relationship luck, because Edward got married didn't he? To Bella Swan of all people, but it was someone nonetheless. I'm just going to ignore the part about the vampire baby and the blood in a smoothie cup for now.

"Jesus, this is dark, even for me. Haven't gone all emo on me have you, Mikey?" I had to chuckle at that, but soon enough he flicked the light switch on and then he could see the state I was in.

He could see how I hurt, and how I cried, and I didn't want him to see, I didn't want him to know, because somehow I felt that I still had to protect him from the world, and protect him from my pain.

That was, of course, a stupid idea, because Gerard was twenty five, he'd been more than exposed to this world already. My subconscious was just trying to protect itself, and disguising the whole concept in an act of kindness, but it was a poorly constructed act of kindness; one that would topple and fall if I so much as poked it.

"Fuck...” He stood in astonishment at me red cheeks, runny nose, puffed up eye bags and straw like hair. I was a big ass mess.

I was the absolute definition of a mess; I looked like I needed medical help and plastic surgery at the same time. It was an odd combination, but somehow it managed to make sense in that insanity ridden head of mine.

"You're not okay, are you?" I couldn't answer; I just shook my head, because I most certainly was not okay. I was so far from fucking okay; I redefined the words 'not okay'. At least I wasn't lying this time, as least I finally had the guts to drag the truth between my chewed lips.

Biting my lips had become less of a habit and more of a lifestyle over the past few hours; I knew it was screwing them up too hell, but I couldn't bring myself to care, because I kind of liked the way it feel as my teeth sunk and slowly tore away at the soft surface skin.

It was kind of sickening when you thought about it, so I tried my best not to. Evidently, I wasn't doing the best of jobs, but when it came to me, things like that we sort of expected, things that came on label.

He sat down beside me, whispering his words soothingly into my ear, like a lullaby and like I was just a little child again. It was peaceful, because I just wanted to be seven and for him to be twelve again, because then there was none of this mess of heartbreak, and we barely knew of the real world, and we were fine with that, but we had to grow up.

It was natural but it hurt, and it especially hurt that we couldn't quite grow up together; Gerard grew up first. It was to be expected with the five year age gap, but it still wasn't welcomed. I didn't want to let Gerard grow up and get acne and crushes and addicted to drugs.

I wanted him to be twelve and I wanted us just to be kids forever, but it doesn't work that way. The world isn't Neverland, and neither of us quite enough pairs of tights to be Peter Pan. I do reckon I make an unfortunately convincing lost boy, though.

"It’s okay, it's okay, he's just a guy." Gerard was practically cradling my chocking and distraught frame. I felt ridiculous, I felt sorry for him, but I could barely feel anything at all other than the massive hole in my chest and the knots in my throat.

"He doesn't matter, this doesn't matter. You're fine, you're okay." That felt like a lie, because it did matter, this felt like it mattered more than anything else in the world ever had before, and I wasn't fine, I was far from okay. But Gerard was trying his best and I wasn't going to criticise him for that, because quite frankly, I wasn't even trying.

"But I love him-" I choked out like an over emotional thirteen year old girl.

I was quite clearly in a state, an enormous state and I hated that more than I hated the fact that I love him. Love was a perplexing emotion if anything and it most certainly did an awfully good job at making my head spin like crazy.

"There's no past tense in that sentence." Gerard noted and I nodded, leaving the both of us to slowly come to a realisation. It was a painful realisation, and one I didn't quite want Gerard to realise, yet alone ponder over for what felt like decades on end, whereas in reality was only a few minutes.

"You still love him." He confirmed, but really he didn't have to know. There was no other possibility within the frames of reality we called the universe, because I still loved Pete Wentz and nothing at all could change that.

"Yeah, pathetic... I know." I choked out, the tears never quite calming, because it hurt to realise, it hurt to remember, it hurt to accept, but most of all it hurt to love, and it especially hurt to love Pete Wentz.

They say love's worth all of that, all of that heartbreak and all of that fucking pain, but right now wasn't proving that at all. Right now was proving the opposite.

Right now told me that I wanted to become a hermit and live in my bedroom for the rest of my life, but unfortunately, I don't think Gerard would let me do that; not that he wouldn't be a hypocrite for it, of course.

He'd be a massive fucking hypocrite, but he'd ignore that and carry on drinking coffee, because he's Gerard and he's good at accepting and being himself. I'm Mikey Way, and I'm not.

I'm Mikey Way and I'm in love.

"No it's not - Mikey, it means we can fix this!" He smiled at me a little too enthusiastically, and I just wasn't quite sure as to where he was getting this from, because his words gave off the preposterous expression of a liar, but Gerard wouldn't hold me up only to drop me, would he? No, he's Gerard.

Nothing makes any sense, my head's clouded and my judgement's a mess. I just want this to all sort itself out, but things don't work like that, unfortunately. So, I'm lost and I'm in love, and I can't see a way out, not for miles at least.

"What makes you so sure?" He's Gerard but I still find myself uncertain. I'm not exactly sure why, but I think it's the paranoia, or something like that. I can always trust Gerard; I'm just not sure if I can trust myself. It's a confusing world - that's for sure.

"I am a master of relationships." I snorted at the irony of that. I probably shouldn't have, considering the situation with Frank, but I found myself without the capacity to care. With a heart drained of all feeling, not out of spitefulness, but simply because it's already far too preoccupied with a certain Pete Wentz and the way he kisses and the way he lies, and that stupid flirting technique that I've found myself falling in love with.

"No, seriously-" Gerard continued, but I wasn't going to listen to whatever bullshit he could spur out now. It wasn't that I didn't care; it was just that I didn't want any more lying, because I knew now that I really had a strong dislike to liars, and somehow Pete Wentz seemed to find himself as an exception.

Pete had a growing habit of this and I think I was kind of a little bit jealous of it, because Pete could always see that he was important, whereas I was kind of unable to. Sometimes I wanted to destroy myself, but mostly I just wanted to destroy the whole world. I'd destroy the whole world for Pete Wentz, and he should be careful, because I'd destroy Pete Wentz for the whole world too.

I'd destroy anyone for anything; just feel a little less empty inside.

Destruction is the oddest, yet most refined form of creation. We all practice destruction on a daily basis, but actual physical creation, I'm not so sure. I for one am a terrible procrastinator.

"Whatever." I turned my head away, not keen to hear Gerard's gloating. It's probably a little cruel, but so is Gerard, and more often than I am. 

"Listen to me, goddamn." He was a little pissed at me by now, and I didn't blame him. I was shattering and he was trying he is best to pick up the pieces for me, but I'm seemingly incompliant to put the pieces back together with him.

I just want to lie here and cry and maybe die a little too, but Gerard won't let me, because he's Gerard and he cares too much about me. This is great and also a death wish, but he doesn't care. Gerard is my big brother and Gerard will always be.

"Make me." I rolled my eyes at him, most definitely not expecting him to push a hand over my mouth, making my words nothing but mumbles against his flesh. Fuck. His hand tasted weird too- oh fuck! He's definitely been jacking off with this hand and now it's pressed against my lips.

Oh my god. Gerard was practically putting his come molecules in my mouth. I wanted to be sick, but I was just gagging a little and hating Frank for not fucking Gerard so he didn't have to do this.

"Seriously, Mikey." He raised his eyebrows at me and I made no hesitance in returning the gesture, far too preoccupied in act of desperately trying to breathe through a blocked nose and trying to never swallow, because if I swallowed, I quite frankly don't want to know what I was swallowing.

"Anyway, I fixed things with Frank. We're friends again; I'm just working on getting him into bed with me now." I laughed so hard I spluttered out saliva all over his palm. And dear god, I probably inhaled and swallowed, fuck. I had Gerard's come in my mouth- Okay that sounded really bad. Let me try again: molecules, remnants of when Gerard jacked off in my mouth.

That still sounded dodgy as hell, but there was little that I could do about it other than make sure that Frank and Gerard fuck tonight so I can avoid a situation like this again.

"Ew!" He retorted pulling his hand away. And he has the right to think that's disgusting Jesus Christ?

Gerard was a prat for sure, and he just wasn't going to admit that ever or anytime soon for that matter, because that was just a part of his pratty nature.

"Dude, you totally jacked off with that hand!" The words just tumbled out before I came to realise my accusation.

Gerard just turned a scary shade of red as he stared at me with big wide eyes, and it was then I realised that I wasn't just being paranoid and he actually had. "Oh my god..."

"Everyone does it, Mikes." His eyes trailed off into a different direction as he attempted to hide his killer blush.

I think it just kind of hurt to watch how he was without Frank and I then wondered if that was how it was for him to see me without Pete. I think that inspired me to get my shit together, because I didn't want Gerard to feel hopeless at all.

"You love Frank, like you're in love with him, aren't you?" It wasn't really a question, because it didn't need answering. We both knew the answer far too well by now. Gerard was about as stable when it came to Frank as a door without hinges.

Never before had I compared my big brother to a door, and never before had I compared Frank Iero to a set of hinges. I mean, he was bent enough, but it was a rather odd comparison.

"Yeah, I do. I'm in love with him." Gerard made another confession and I was scared I'd jinxed the whole world up again, because confessions didn't seem to work well with us Way brothers.

"You're in love with Pete, though. Anyone can tell that - he can too and I think it scares him. It scares him because he loves you too, and Pete knows that you two might actually last... he's scared of that."

"You know an awful lot about the guy and you've never mentioned him since I met him." I noted, eyeing Gerard through a narrowed gaze, and wondering whether he'd actually just set me up with Pete or not, but that didn't seem like a Gerard thing to do. He was kind of awfully bitter.

"I was a little preoccupied with Frank." He blushed like crazy again. Frank could plunge Gerard into a furious blush just by simply existing and that was really the cutest thing I've ever seen.

The two of them just fit like puzzle pieces, and Gerard reckons Pete and I are the same, but I'm not sure - that isn't going to stop my heart from fluttering over him, though.

"You apologised to him, didn't you?" I was finding the thought kind of hard to process, actually, because Gerard wasn't the apologetic type - that was for sure. Gerard just didn't do kindness and forgiveness, but I think Frank really was an exception, because somehow Frank was everything Gerard needed. They did just fit together. They 'clicked' you could say.

"Yeah, I said sorry." Gerard exhaled audibly, and he seemed to be just as surprised as I was, leaving the both of us in a perplexed state, as we wondered upon the effects of love and why the hell Frank Iero could have possibly seen anything in Ryan Ross. Well, apart from personal hygiene. That was apparently a factor here.

"Seriously?" I raised my eyebrows; maybe I was still just a little shell-shocked within the whole situation. I probably shouldn't have exaggerated my reaction that much as not to end up accidentally offending Gerard, but he knew I was joking. Well he'd known me for two decades; he had pretty much figured me out by now.

"You actually put aside your big ass ego for long enough to actually apologise to somebody?" I was definitely teasing him by now, and it was kind of fun. I had to bite back a grin, because I didn't want to piss him off entirely. I wasn’t quite that much of an asshole, or at least I didn’t think so.

"Don't sound so surprised." His gaze met with mine in a questioning look, but my raised eyebrows didn't budge at all, and I watched far too amused as he attempted to fit together some form of a coherent explanation.

"It's Frank, okay...." A blush filled his cheeks, "it's different."

"It’s different because you're in luuurvee with him." I teased, winking at him. It was weird how easily Gerard had somehow managed to cheer me up. If only I hadn't been such a pissy bitch and stormed off in the first place.

Gerard just always knew how to make me feel better, but he'd been through my teenage angst, and even if he was stoned for a great deal of it, he still had a pretty decent understanding of how emotions worked.

I suggested that he studied psychology once, but he said he didn't want to be some stuck up therapist sat in a room, telling people what to feel.

Gerard was never really a people person; he just cared a lot about the few people that mattered to him. And of course, he was more than content with wasting the rest of his life away in the basement.

"Yeah, I am." His eyes didn't meet mine and he attempted to hide the disastrous colour his face was going with his hair - it was unsuccessful.

"We've already discussed this, though." It was true, but now I could tease him about Frank without feeling like a shrivelled up piece of crap inside, I was going to make the best of every opportunity.

"So, how are you going to get Frank into bed with you?" I winked at him, and Gerard practically buried his face between our shoulders. He was definitely planning on fucking the guy tonight - that goes without saying. And judging by how his hand smelt, Gerard needed it more than ever.

"He's coming over tonight for dinner and... shit." Gerard mumbled, knowing exactly what I'd be imagining. But it was actually kind of cute that he'd invited Frank over, almost like a date, except with mum and me cockblocking him or something like that. And mum being mum would probably have an in depth and meaningful conversation with Frank, but only say one word to Gerard all night and that one word would be 'condoms'.

It was kind of weird how she'd figured out that both of her sons were gay before we even had for ourselves.

Well, Gerard and Frank were bleedingly obvious; you could tell they were in love by their eyes: hazel upon hazel and a look that screamed bedroom.

I wondered if Pete and I were anywhere near as obvious. It was weird how you couldn't tell how obvious something was when you were right in the middle of it. Like how you couldn't see the full storm from the eye of it - could you could only see a mess of swirling clouds and not the utter havoc it was causing. I decided that maybe we were obvious and we just hadn't noticed it yet.

"And is he staying in your room?" I continued before he could project any form of denial onto me, because Gerard was going to pull that innocent act in a minute, but the truth was clear. "In your bed? With minimal clothing? Is he bringing a condom? Do you have enough lube-?"

"He's still dating Ryan." Gerard's eyes burned into mine. Oh. Of course; Gerard couldn't quite work magic, and somehow Ryan Ross was still a relevant issue, and maybe I should consider listening to Pete for once and killing the guy. There'd be legal trouble, but Gerard knew how to hide a body. This was to do with his CSI addiction and not murderous tendencies - or at least I hoped so.

"You're Gerard fucking Way, he's Frank fucking Iero - you two are made for one another. Ryan Ross is irrelevant." I sounded like some sort of overly enthusiastic homosexual preacher, and I almost spluttered out with laughter at that title. That would really be a weird job, and maybe it was what Gerard was meant to be.

Gerard hadn't a clue what to do with his life other than Frank Iero. He was kind of a hopeless case and mum had recognised this and somehow now I was expected to excel at this English course and somehow end up with a degree I'd do very little with other than flaunt around.

"I'm not sure Ryan's massive ego agrees with that." He just looked at me before we both fell into a fit of laughter. Gerard was the best brother I could ever ask for, because he just got me, and we just worked.

We really were a devilish pair - we were just a little bit hopeless at times, and sometimes more often than not. But were the possibly the closest pair of brothers there ever was.

"Your ego's bigger." I corrected him. Because Gerard was a prat and I felt as if he somehow needed reminding. He really didn't, but I didn't care all that much.

"By ego do you mean dick?" He winked at me, and I really didn't. I didn't want to be involved in Gerard's dick not metaphorically, and certainly not physically. That would really be messed up - like really fucking messed up.

"Gerard I don't know how big your dick is and quite frankly I want things to stay that way-" 

"Ten inches." He lied, because he really didn't have one that big. No one did. Or at least I really hoped he didn't, like really, because I'd then need to get really jealous, even if it was a little weird, and just a little concerned about Frank for tonight.

"Sure." I looked at him in disbelief, trying to rid my head of a ghastly mental image that I daren't even mention, because I really don't think anyone wants this kind of thing imprinted into their head. Well, I think Frank does, but he's Frank and by some witchcraft he's in love with my disgusting older brother. It makes Gerard happy, though, so I don't think I'm going to question it.

"Anyway what was this relationship magic of yours that you could possibly use on Pete?" I tried to speak in the most hopeful sounding tone I could muster, but things really weren't working. I was also simply trying to change the subject and possibly rid my head of that ghastly mental image. I maybe was just a tiny bit curious as to what this 'relationship magic' could possibly be.

"It's not 'relationship magic', Mikes." He confessed, well it wasn't really that much of a confession, (thank god, we couldn't take any more bad luck) because it took someone with one brain cell to figure out he was lying. "I made that bit up." He winked at me, and I felt like reminding him that he was twenty five and not just five.

"I couldn't fucking tell."

He chose to ignore my sarcasm. "Relationship magic, let me tell you Mikey, is ringing him the fuck up and telling him you're both prats and that you're fucking sorry and hoping he does the same. You gotta apologise first, because you don't want to and neither does he. Unfortunately Pete doesn't have a genius of an older brother to tell him how to fix his relationships, so he's not going to apologise first, so you're going to do it."

"I broke my phone." I confessed, and Gerard looked like he thought I was lying and trying to get out of this, but I wasn't quite that much of a coward, well not anymore. In the past, I definitely was, but I think I'm trying to change now. I'm not doing a very good job, admittedly, but I think it's the trying that counts.

"Use mine." He tossed the thing at me in what seemed like the most reckless of manners possible.

Gerard clearly had very little respect for health of cell phones, but considering how I smashed mine over Pete Wentz, it didn't look like either of us did. Cell phones were just cell phones though, and people were people. People were entirely more important - that was for sure.

"How will this even work?" I was still a little uncertain, and nerves were definitely a matter, because there was the awfully possible possibility that Pete Wentz could simply not accept my apology and never want to see me again, because I could be a throw away for him, and he could be everything for me at precisely the same time.

The world worked in weird ways and love worked in crueller ones. I was scared as hell, but I was going to call, because I think I'd rather take my chances with my demise rather than hang in limbo and watch as the two of us drifted away into a certain state of silence.

I missed Pete's one am calls about dick jokes and episodes of Breaking Bad. I thought I hated them, but you never really appreciate someone until they're gone. The world works against us like that.

"One day we all get nostalgic for disaster."

"What does that even mean?"

"Just call him goddamn." Gerard was stubborn about this; I guess he didn't want to see me moping around about something as ridiculous as this. He was just more assured that this would work than I was. He had all the confidence and I had very little. I was just going to have to trust him on this one.

I sighed, going through Gerard's contacts, not questioning at least half of them, before I finally found Pete. I tapped on the call icon and then the ringing started. I stopped wondering why he had a prostitute’s number saved in his phone, because it was probably not a concept that should ever be brought to life. It was probably a joke anyway. I hoped it was a joke.

"Gerard?" Pete's voice broke into the air, uncertain and raw. I couldn't speak, because I was in awe at the sound of his voice.

It sounded pathetic, but I'd missed the sound of his voice at the very least and I didn't like the awkward and uncertain way he said my brother's name opposed to how he screamed 'Mikeess' down the line. It was ear splitting, but I could get hearing aids, I couldn't get another Pete Wentz.

"Uhh... it's Mikey actually." My words stumbled hastily into the silence, as I wondered how he could possibly react to this, because I was scared he'd react badly and even more scared he wouldn't react at all.

I was scared I'd waited too long to call him and he'd already moved on and patched up the hole in his life where I used to lie. I was I could have done that too, but the hole he left was colossal, and it didn't need stitches, it need a transplant.

"Oh."

"Yeah..." I breathed out helplessly, looking at Gerard for help, who rolled his eyes carelessly at me, before mouthing something which was reminiscent of the word 'apologise'.

Gerard wasn't the most helpful people at times. I think he was a little pissed at me, or maybe he just needed some coffee. I wondered if we'd ran out and if that was simply why Gerard had actually bothered coming to talk to me, but I liked to think he cared a little more than that. Wishful thinking was natural, I guess.

"I'm sorry." The words flew out without any preparation, and the line went utterly silent for what felt like days, whereas in reality was probably only a few minutes. Everything felt like it was shattering, and I wanted the whole world to fall apart right there and then. I wanted to disintegrate into pure nothingness and undoubtedly drag Pete down with me.

"Dude, what are you sorry for? I should be sorry - I'm a dick." He finally said into the silence, and I wasn't quite sure how I would even react with the slightest composure, because I wanted to scream at him and kiss him at the same time, but I couldn't kiss a voice down the phone, and I didn't want to deafen him either.

"Yeah you are." There was no denying that, and thankfully he chuckled along with me. I was glad I could settle upon that, because that wasn't quite as disastrous as half the things I wanted to scream at him were.

"I'm sorry, Mikey. Truly." His words were sincere and I trusted them because I wanted to more than anything. Trust was a profound bond and one I didn't quite think that someone like Pete Wentz deserved, but part of me just couldn't care.

Part me just couldn't do anything than want to cry and kiss him and just fall asleep pressed up against his side, but I couldn't because he wasn't here and I was trying to have a relatively heartfelt phone call as my older brother listened in. It was an odd situation to say the least.

"Can I ask why?" The words stumbled out with uncertainty, and what didn't help was Gerard sat there with a gaping expression upon his face. Gerard obviously didn't reckon that I wouldn't just be satisfied with a simple apology and would be prepared to fuck things up again all in search of answers.

"I wanted sex, Mikey. And I was stupid, and you didn't want to have sex with me - I needed to fuck someone. It was a strictly onetime thing." He confessed, and I wasn't quite sure if he was lying or not. I mean it was Pete, so it was definitely plausible at the very least, but I didn't know if I could really trust him or not.

"It was a stupid thing to do, but I didn't want to make you have sex with me if you didn't want to." Okay maybe that was a good thing, but I couldn't excuse the entirety of his douchebaggery for one good hearted deed, could I? I did really just want to forgive him, though. Maybe I wouldn't let him off entirely.

"Discuss these things with me, Pete. And then maybe we could have sorted something out." I wasn't sure as to what we could have possibly have sorted out, but the words sounded good so I went with them regardless.

I wasn't going to fuck him, or let him fuck me, because especially with this situation, I couldn't trust him with something like that, with my virgin ass. I think he liked the fact that I was definitely a virgin. It was kind of weird, but Pete thought it was kind of cute - really, I didn't quite see the appeal. It was just kind of sad.

"Are you suggesting you would have-" I blushing like mad now, because I wouldn't have, but Pete wouldn't accept the truth now he'd been tempted with a possibility of the impossible.

Pete was a wishful thinker, an imaginative liar; Pete Wentz didn't like to live in reality, and that was a weird thing to think about. He didn't look like the typical dreamer, but I didn't look like his type, and yet here we were.

"Shut up!" Gerard was sniggering in the background and if he continued I would have to aim a kick where it hurts, because Pete would surely get a little concerned if he realised that my big brother was listening in on our call. I doubted Gerard could actually hear what Pete was saying, but whatever - he was kind of physic to a certain degree.

"You're blushing - I can tell." Goddamn Pete Wentz and his fucking psychic phone call powers. Psychics - goddamn them. I will kill them all when I end up massacring the whole of planet earth one day. This doesn't even seem quite so impossible anymore.

"I'm not." I protested, I was lying quite clearly, but it was a protest nevertheless.

Gerard was far too amused by the entire situation and I was really considering rendering him infertile; it's not like it'll matter, seeing as far as I'm aware, Frank is a male.

"Liar." Pete wasn't psychic after all. He just knew that I was a terrible liar, as did pretty much everyone. The art of avoiding telling the truth clearly wasn't my forte.

Gerard coughed loudly to remind me he was still here. "Is that Gerard in the background?" Shit. How can he even recognise him from one cough? I don't want to know- oh, it is Gerard's cell phone, isn't it. Now, I do really feel stupid.

"Yeah, this is his phone." I reminded the two of us, as I pretended I'd never forgotten, because Gerard wasn't the only stubborn little shit in the Way family. It was a gene we all seemed to share actually, even mum, and probably dad too.

"Why are you using his phone?" Pete asked, a little confused, but I didn't think it really mattered to him that much in the great scheme of things. I liked to think I mattered to him, though. It was narcissistic, and I had no way of knowing, but wishful thinking was part of the human brain.

"I smashed mine because you kept trying to call me." I confessed, and thankfully he just chuckled at that. Pete wasn't the type to be offended, though. In fact, he seemed to have the ability to take absolutely everything as a compliment. I wondered if this was a facade, or whether the guy had the capacity to really be just that arrogant. It was probably a facade, but Pete was pretty arrogant.

"I'll buy you a new one, don't worry." He assured me, but I most definitely didn't want him to do that, because Pete had very little money I could tell, and if he was somehow going to acquire a cell phone, it wouldn't be by legal means at the very least.

"Don't." My words were firm, because I was scared he actually would. I didn't want some cell phone he'd stolen off a little kid or something equally as dodgy.

"Hey, it's an apology present." Presents are usually bought. Maybe I shouldn't so persistently accuse him of stealing, but really, where the hell would Pete get the money from? He works in a comic book store and lives in his mum's house.

"No, it's not." I persisted, trying to convince him not to bother and generally finding myself regretting telling him about the whole cell phone incident in the first place at all.

"Shut up." He always knew just how to sweet talk me into anything and it was goddamn annoying. He was Pete Wentz, though and sweet talking somehow seemed to come naturally to him, whereas I was about as eloquent as a beaver with a speech impediment.

"Pete, come to mine tonight for dinner... and shit." Gerard raised his eyebrows at me and mouthed something about condoms, which I could only be grateful he hadn't said any louder or Pete might have heard

It was only occurring to me that it'd be Gerard, Frank, Pete and I. I felt sorry for my mum, to be honest. She shouldn't have to put up with both her sons and their boyfriends, and she definitely wouldn't be happy about actually having to cook.

No one in this household could actually cook anything decently, and we were all content with living off ready meals, pot noodle, and caffeinated drinks. Mum was insistent upon buying boxed salads to keep us healthy; she was the only one that ate them though. I didn't like olives and Gerard didn't like lettuce, or salads for that matter. Gerard lived off coffee and the occasional pot noodle, but he was still alive, wasn't he?

"And shit?" He was definitely raising his eyebrows at that, because he was interpreting it the wrong way, or well, the only way to interpret it. He interpreted it the way I interpreted it... when it came from Gerard's lips, which was a completely different matter, by the way. "Should I bring my Breaking Bad box set?"

"Don't worry I have Netflix." I didn't know where half of these words were coming from, but it somehow seemed to work and somehow, in some dimension of insanity, this was all fine with me, because as long as I had Pete everything seemed to somehow fix itself. It was irrational and goddamn stupid but I didn't have the capacity to care.

"I'll bring the condoms don't worry-" There would be no condoms. There would be no need for condoms. I would be very sure of that.

"Pete!" He giggled- yup, I definitely heard a giggle there. Pete's giggle was cute, as was the rest of him. Pete Wentz was just a damn cutie.

"Anyway, bye Mikes-" He was probably running off to buy condoms right this very instant, but I wasn't done yet. I wanted to say something else.

It was a stupid decision and they were stupid words to say but I felt that I was going to say them nonetheless. I'd chance fucking this up for three little words.

"Wait, Pete." Fuck. Was I actually going to say this? It looked like I was and that scared me. That scared me more than anything in the entire universe had before. 

"Yeah?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"I love you." And somehow the words just fell out. They kind of weren't supposed to, but nothing else had been quite so carefully planned.

We were in silence for far too long, Gerard shot me a terrified look, because he knew, the two of us knew that Pete didn't do commitment and he didn't say 'I love you's. I didn't breathe before I finally heard back, "I love you too." I breathed in like hell to stop myself suffocating and fist pumped at Gerard who had to bury his face in a pillow to muffle his laughter.

"Anyway see you later, Mikes." He said it so casually it almost hurt, because I didn't think there was a hole in my heart anymore, I think it was slowly repairing itself and Pete Wentz wasn't a model for perfect hearts, but excessive amounts of tape and a few stitches held the damn thing together just fine.

"See you, Wentz." And then the line went dead. Silence again, but this time I chose the silence. This was good silence, this wasn't lonely silence. This was the silence I needed.

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.

Gerard pulled his face up from the pillow and just looked at me, a confused expression and one eyebrow cocked up, "are you calling double date?"

"It's hardly a date." I reassured myself, despite the fact that the words were directed at him they were more for myself.

"How so?" Gerard was pretty sure this was a date, despise the fact that his 'date' had a boyfriend that wasn't him, who was an asshole and washed on a regular basis and wore far too many scarves.

"Mum will be there." I reminded him, and I began to be excessively thankful for my mother's presence at meal even when Pete was there.

And as I thought about it I realised just how badly that would go, because Pete would probably end up telling her dick jokes and then the tables would turn because she'd probably end up laughing hysterically because my mum wasn't the most conventional of people. This does kind of explain Gerard... and myself.

"Just think of her as the chef/room service." Gerard was exceedingly good at being disrespectful to just about everyone and anyone. It really wasn't the best of qualities, but it was definitely a 'Gerard quality'.

It was a better quality than his ability to wear the same shirt, unwashed, for a month straight before mum sabotaged his plans and washed his entire wardrobe. He said he was allergic to the detergent, but really he was just very, very lazy; lazy, being one of the most significant and definitely the most unmistakeable of Gerard's qualities.

"I'll tell her you said that." I would, not that she wasn't already considering the plotting of Gerard's murder, in a maternal manner, of course. As I said, unconventional.

"Yeah, Mikey you do that." He mumbled, pulling himself up from the floor, "but it's five pm and we both have a date to get ready for." It wasn't a date. I had given up protesting by now though; I wasn't quite as stubborn as Gerard.

"You're actually going to shower?" I threw the unspoken question at him as he neared the door. I didn't think he was, but he looked pretty determined, and I was just scared his tactic to replace Ryan Ross was to become Ryan Ross and hope Frank simply didn't notice the difference. I however, really did not want to put up with another scarf wearing asshole.

Gerard was already a prime asshole, but I think the scarves just added to the douchebaggery and I might end up strangling him with them or something and I heard that's kind of very illegal.

"It seemed to work with Lindsey, didn't it?" He shrugged the matter off as if it was simple, but he didn't have a clue just how different Frank and Lindsey were.

Frank loved Gerard for who he was and Frank put up with his bad hygiene and caffeine addiction; Lindsey thought he looked kind of pretty in a shop and asked him on a one time date. Gerard wasn't a one-time date guy though - Gerard was an 'I'll love you for the rest of my life' kind of guy.

"Girls just like that kind of shit. Frank just likes you how you are." I attempted to convey this across to him in the least weird sounding way, but I think I'd already accepted that I was doing a shitty job.

I wasn't one for words and yet I was doing an English course and the test was awfully soon. I was just trying my best not to think about it. I was doing a shitty job of this too.

"Yeah, but I want my dick to taste of something other than mouldy sandwich and three month old boxers." I didn't want to know what on earth it would taste like mouldy sandwiches, so I really wasn't going to press it, even if it did concern me more than just a little.

"He has a boyfriend and you're certain on getting a blowjo-" My words were cut off by his laughter, and simply I raised my eyebrows at my ridiculous excuse for a brother. He was high on the fact that he'd made things up with Frank. He was ridiculously proud of himself, or maybe he'd just realised how good selflessness feels, but he's a prat, so he's just Gerard and he's just proud.

I don't care if he's a prat as long as he's happy and he seems to be happy as long as he has Frank.

"I'm aiming higher, but whatever." Of course he was, being Gerard and being an arrogant prat with no concept of boundaries and a terrible disregard for boundaries. Frank didn't mind though; somehow Frank found Gerard cute - that was clear. Clear, yet confusing. Who was I to talk, though? I found Pete Wentz cute.

"Ryan Ross will shoot you." I wasn't exaggerating. Actually, he'd probably hang him with one of those Ryan Ross gay scarves that I'd love to burn. I want to burn them all, along with Pride and Prejudice.

I want to burn a lot of things actually. Maybe I am a pyromaniac, maybe my professor’s right- nah; I'm too stubborn to let her have that one.

"I'll strangle him with his scarves, don't worry." Gerard assured me with a smirk plastered across his face as he mimed it out, whilst looking like an absolute doofus, but when miming Ryan Ross was anything else possible?

"You're fucking ridiculous."

"And we're both getting laid tonight!" He exclaimed. Dear god, I think he was really getting overexcited; he'd definitely had too much coffee. And Gerard had developed a really fucking high tolerance to that shit so he'd probably had at least seven hundred cups. This was concerning.

"I'm not-" I protested, trying to put his worrying caffeine addiction to the back of my mind, and not doing the best of jobs at it.

"C'mon, we both know Pete's bringing at least seventy different flavours of condom." It was probably true, to be honest. I would enjoy burning them, though. Maybe we could just have a massive bonfire as I celebrated my newly discovered pyromania as no one called the fire department and we all just watched as the fire engulfed the whole of humanity-

I was a guilty pyromaniac, definitely.

"What happened to your 'let's be bitter singles' attitude?" I tried to pull my mind away from pyromania and focused open my brother and the guy that he planned to fuck despite him having a boyfriend that wasn't him. Gerard didn't care though, and Frank was definitely very attracted to Gerard, so he might actually end up succeeding.

"Frank Iero happened, darling." He said in quite possibly the most gay voice anyone could ever dream of pulling off before closing the door behind him, and leaving me to get ready for my not quite really a date.

I thought of maybe just accepting that this kind of was really a date, but I decided I was maybe just far too stubborn for that. I blamed Gerard for this, because I think Pete was tired of getting all the blame and Gerard was an asshole too. We were all assholes, in fact.

This 'date' preparation would prove harder than I first thought, considering the fact I literally looked like a zombie who been dragged backwards through four hedges. It wasn't pretty to say the least, but it was apparent Pete had very little regard for my appearance.

Unfortunately, my self-confidence did.

-

As tugged my straightener through my hair for what I hoped would be the final time, the sound of the doorbell ringing throughout the house made me jump and almost burn my ear off. I was pretty glad that I didn't burn my ear off, because that might have some disastrous consequences involving at least second degree burns, failed not quite dates and hospital waiting rooms.

I glanced in the mirror and found myself suitably satisfied with my appearance and then raced off downstairs before Gerard had time to sell Pete lube or something (I'm sure he'd already have this covered).

I just hoped Frank could serve as a suitable distraction for my bastard of a brother. He probably would though, seeing as the two of them haven't seen each other in weeks now and I'm sure they won't be able to take their attention away from one another for long than a second.

Speaking of Frank, I was glad to see him now, because I had missed him as well. I just hoped Ryan hadn't been feeding him too much shit about me. Ryan really did hate me and I hadn't done anything to directly offend him; his hatred for Gerard was just backlashing onto me.

"Your boyfriend's at the door." I looked up to see my disgruntled mother serving up more food than she'd ever cooked before. And she didn't particularly enjoy cooking so this was probably the first time she's cooked a meal this year and it's April.

Don't get me wrong, she's a great mum - probably the best I could ever ask for, because she's so accepting, she doesn't care what we do as long as we're safe and happy.

Well, she kind of has to be okay with the whole gay thing, because with the two of us being gay, she hasn't got much chance to be homophobic without the two of us pummelling her to death and kicking her out of her own house.

She was just a little pissed off with me, because Gerard had managed to convince her that it was entirely my fault that she'd now had to cook decent food for five, as opposed to get some pot noodle out the cupboard and trying to get the kettle to boil to supply our caffeine addictions.

"He's not my boyfr-" I stopped myself, pondering over something; "well actually I think he might be." She raised her eyebrows at me, perplexed and intrigued.

"Don't be too loud tonight." I looked at her with an astonished expression and she just chuckled. You could tell her and Gerard were related. "You know what I might just take off after dinner; because I don't want hear both of my sons fuck their boyfriends all night."

"Mum, I'm not going-" I could protest all I wanted but her head had already been filled with the 'truth'.

"Gerard has already informed me of your plans." I could kill him, I swear. I would kill him if it would upset Frank as much as I know it would, because I want Frank to figure out he's in love with Gerard whilst the guy is still alive, because necrophilia is actually really fucking creepy, well of course it is, but whatever.

I just shook my head at her, before dashing off to find Pete interrogating both Frank and Gerard about what I assumed to be their break up.

Oh, god he'd probably end up mentioning Lindsey to Frank, and fuck, Gerard had kind of told me that was a secret. Frank would surely be just a little amused regarding Gerard's ventures into the scary world of heterosexuality. I was just concerned with the fact that an actual female genuinely wanted to date my brother.

Well, I'm screwed if Pete decides to bring that up. He probably will now, just because he can sense how much trouble I'll get into.

"Mikeyyyyyy!" Pete called at me, practically leaping towards me and ensnaring me in some sort of concerningly constricting hug. Oh my god, help me.

"Pete!" I mumbled back as I grasped for air. Pete was making it awfully difficult for me to breathe, which was as suspected, a minor inconvenience.

"Dude, he can't even breathe." Thank fuck for Frank Iero. Gerard probably will fuck Frank Iero, but I'm not going to thank that.

Pete released me, and looked at Frank and Gerard again, before turning to me, "you totally double dated me, didn't you, Way." Pete had similar suspicions to Gerard, and apparently we were on a date now. I wasn't so sure about it before but I was perfectly happy to go along with Pete's apparently simple explanation.

"Ahem," Gerard coughed; a blush most definitely creeping onto his cheeks, "we're not actually-" Oh so he wasn't so sure now, was he?

"Shut up Gerard, you're so fucking obvious." Frank just winked at us with the smuggest expression on his face. Did Frank just break the code of sexual tension secrecy? Had the confessions finally jinxed us in the right way?

"Oh my god." The words just fell from my mouth and Pete and Frank just giggled at each other. Gerard however, I think had just been paralysed from the bottom up.

I wondered if he'd actually stopped breathing altogether. Frank had noticed this too, and inside of being concerned, was just stood there like a giggling idiot.

"What about this Ryan Ross?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow and I tried my best not to roll out a reflex like spell of curses just as I heard the guy's name.

"Didn't not work out, let me tell you." Frank laughed and I watched as Gerard fingers fumbled for Frank's who immediately squeezed them as a sign of comfort. Gerard still did look like he'd just been possessed by twelve ghosts at once, but really Frank Iero just held hands with him. I don't think Gerard will ever let him go now.

"How so?" I asked, less in concern for Frank but more in the fact that I really did want to hear every bad word anyone could ever say about Ryan Ross. My hatred for the guy was kind of concerning.

"He was all into bondage and I was like fuck that!" Gerard's facial expression was priceless. Gerard was clearly not into bondage. Gerard was just into Frank and was currently more than smug to be holding hands with the guy right now.

"What did he tie you down with his scarves and shit?" Pete joked. Pete had actually jerked up at the mention of bondage, which really fucking concerned me. I should burn every scarf in his house just to be sure.

"Yeah, let's not get into details."

I think we better not, for Gerard’s sake at the very least.

-

Mum had opted for the seat at the end of the table, leaving Gerard and Frank on one side, and Pete and I on the other. Frank and Gerard were clearly holding hands under the table.

Pete however had retorted to being a little twat and trying to get me aroused by permanently resting his hand on my crotch. This was not fun, let me tell you now.

This was making it increasingly hard to eat anything.

"Frank, it's so nice to see you again." My mum said casually as she was thankfully unaware of Pete palming me just a metre away. The fact that if she knew, she probably would react that majorly, well apart from high-fiving Pete or something ridiculous, did concern me an awful lot.

"Yeah, it's nice to be here." Frank mused whilst gazing absent mindedly at his mash potato in a way that made me mildly concerned, but overall, I was just glad he'd finally realised how in love with each he and Gerard were.

It was cute and I was really happy for Gerard, but the amount of late night fucking I'd be forced to listen to- dear god. I don't even want to think about it.

I shuddered as Pete fucking squeezed and I could feel that fucking smirk on his lips. He was enjoying this more than he'd ever enjoyed anything before and I fucking knew it.

Gerard sent me a concerned look and mouthed something at me. I just looked at Pete with a scowl and he clearly got the right idea, as he had to subdue his laughter with excessive amounts of under cooked broccoli. He didn't even like broccoli.

"Tell me about yourself Pete?" Oh dear god, this was going to be 'interesting', either that or Pete would end up beheaded within the next few minutes and not necessarily just by my mum either.

"I work in a comic book store, and that's how I met Mikey-" I chose to interrupt him before he started going off on a really dodgy tangent or something, because it's what our first conversation consisted of that I'd really rather my own mother didn't know. Blowjobs weren't really a dinner table topic either.

"Yeah, Gerard was too lazy to get his own comic so I had to go out in the rain to get a shiny bloody comic!" Frank chuckled a little at that, but I let him off because I hadn't seen him in ages.

Frank had been trained to be accustomed towards Gerard's scary comic book collecting addiction, so I guess this wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him.

"You should be thanking me, to be honest." Gerard always was an arrogant prat, but at least he was good at it. He wasn't just good at it; he was quite possibly the very best.

"Shut up-"

"You really should." Pete whispered, squeezing again, and I totally didn't fucking kick him in the shin under the table or anything.

"Are you okay Pete?" Mum looked at my ass of a boyfriend with a concerned expression. Or at least I thought we were back at boyfriend status, but I couldn't really be sure you know. I just hoped we were though; I mean, according to Pete this was a date, so at least we were somewhere on the right track.

"Yeah, I'm just fine - it's Mikey you should be worried about. I think he's coming down with something... maybe you should send him to bed early." I was close to face planting in my mash potato.

"Right, that's it - I'm going!" My mum jumped up from the table and grabbed her coat, understanding the other meaning behind Pete's words more than he expected her to. "You can do your own washing up." She yelled in an oddly affectionate manner before closing the door behind her.

"I swear your mother's crazy." Frank directed his words at Gerard but that wasn't going to stop me butting in regardless. I was just crazy and you couldn't control me.

"She has to put up with him, so I'm not surprised." I did love insulting my dearest older brother. And Gerard did loving scowling at my insults towards him.

"She has to put up with you too." Gerard reminded me, which was true and she was probably more pissed off me for generally being incapable at English and college in general.

"Who never leaves the basement?"

"Look at me now, Mikes." He gestured to the air around him. "In the fucking dining room." He seemed far too proud of that for a person claiming to be sane.

"You're only here because of Frank." I reminded him of the truth.

Gerard blushed a little, well; quite a lot actually, "I bet he's better in bed than Pete."

"Now, darling - you're wrong on that front." Pete butted in, clearly offended at Gerard's disbelief in his bedroom expertise.

"I'm offended now." Frank butted in, clearly not letting his sex appeal be lived down by a guy that had more scented candles than friends.

"Don't worry I'm sure Ryan has given you lots of experience." Gerard glared at me as soon as the words left my lips, but I didn't blame him all that much. This was kind of a touchy subject for him.

"I'm Ryan Ross and I will tie you to the bed with my scarves!" Pete did a really dodgy impression of Ryan, which definitely made Frank blush.

I wondered what really compelled Frank to put up with that douche in the first place. Hygiene, probably. Frank is apparently gay enough for personal hygiene to matter.

"He's messed up, I swear." Frank confessed, trying to separate Ryan from himself entirely.

"I'll use something better than a scarf to tie you down." Gerard joked, or at least I hoped he was joking because that was something I didn't want to think about at all.

"It'll be me tying you down." Frank winked at Gerard, pulling him back onto his lap, and tangling his fingers in those matted black locks that really needed washing.

"Well..." I breathed out. "Pete and I have got to go-"

"Watch Breaking Bad." He finished for me, with a wink, and before I knew it, he was dragging me up the stairs and into my bedroom.

This could only end terribly.

 

-


	2. Part 2

"You're checking out my ass. I can tell." 

Pete's voice came from over the countertop of the comic book store like a foghorn. He wasn't pissed, or at least I didn't think so; being Pete, he could do nothing more but bask in the attention, even if it was unexpected.

In my defence, the guy had a really nice ass. There was little doubt about that, and being his boyfriend, I was practically obliged to stare. It was ass appreciation. I wondered if there was a National Ass Appreciation Day. I really did hope there was, and the guilty party of me just prayed that somehow it could be today.

"I am not." I persisted, trying my best to tear my gaze away from Pete's bending down figure, which really did give me a great view of his ass. It was a 'fine booty' as you may say, but I wasn't keen on letting Pete and his overgrown, mutated ego deal with the matter of compliments thrown around without a second thought. I really did have to watch myself with Pete.

He got up and turned to face me in one fluid motion, catching my gaze within instants, and almost as if he had been planning the whole ordeal as he would of course.

"You totally were." I was caught red-handed with very little I could do other than accept the truth and let his ego simply inflate further.

Really, I was doing his ego a favour by not complimenting him, because I was pretty sure if the thing got any bigger, Pete would just explode all together, and that was a mess I was most certainly not in the mood for cleaning up.

"Damn." I muttered, shaking my head in mock disappointment for myself. He'd most definitely caught me in the act. That wouldn't be quite such a bad thing if Pete ever let go of it that was, but Pete wouldn't. The guy would tease me about this until the day I die.

My ass appreciation would become Pete Wentz's claim to fame. He'd put it on his CV and probably introduce himself as 'Pete Wentz - owner of Mikey Way's favourite ass'. Ass. Ass. Ass. The word ass sounds fucking weird now. This one's definitely Pete's fault; at least my conscience can live off that.

Pete chuckled, letting a smirk ride over his lips as he looked me up and down; he was definitely trying to get in some two way ass appreciation, but there was no way I was turning round for Pete Wentz, even for a brief moment.

The thing is Pete would probably snapchat my ass with the caption 'best booty' to everyone in his contacts, and that included my brother. Don't blame me, but I'd rather that Gerard didn't get a picture of my ass with a cringe-worthy caption.

He is my brother after all, and there's also the matter that he'd probably print the goddamn thing out onto A2 paper and stick it all over the house like some sort of porn propaganda, courtesy of Mr Pete Wentz.

"I don't blame you - I have a lovely ass." Pete never really quite got the concept of modesty at all. I think the overinflated ego was something to do with that, which was maybe just a little bit my fault, but mostly his, because how you can live without something being Pete's fault.

That sounds kind of horrible, when you actually think about it, but I'm going to justify it with Pete's goddamn ego. I would torch that thing within a second. Maybe I'll burn along with Pride and Prejudice, and Ryan's scarves.

What concerned me the most about this was that Gerard was actually considering arranging a bonfire. Gerard and fire is not necessarily the best of combinations, but then again of course, fire and I is infinitely worse, as my college professor would most definitely agree.

"Meh, your ass is average." I shrugged it off, not letting him inject another compliment into his ego like a shot of heroin. Maybe I'd have to get those blue lights they have in the lifts and toilets in the shopping centre to stop people doing drugs; they make it so you can’t see your vein or something. I don't know - I'm not exactly an expert upon drug prevention methods, but I do try my best.

"Meh, you're average." Pete grumbled, trying to put off his severe ego hit from my utter unappreciation of his ass. It didn't bother me - Pete was just like that: pissy and annoying, but overall stupidly cute.

It was weird to think about that I was now dating and in love with the guy from the comic book store that made far too many dick jokes and made our first conversation focus upon the topic of blowjobs. If you'd have told me that this guy would end up being my boyfriend I would have probably slapped you and thrown you out a window.

But love is blind; Frank and Gerard are a prime example of this, but at least now Ryan and his scarves are out of the way and soon to be burned, they're together. I was just a little concerned that if Ryan was at this bonfire of Gerard's then he'd end up getting burned in his entirety too, and that'd leave us with a long and problematic court case that I'd really rather not sit through.

"You're my boyfriend." I wasn't quite sure where I was going with this at all and how on earth it was supposed to be an insult, and of course as to whether somehow I'd ended up insulting myself too in the process. Thinking about it, I probably had. Well shit.

"How's that supposed to be an insult?" Pete and his ego were clearly highly expertised in the world of insult hurling and derogatory warfare, but in my case, it seemed to be all in good spirits, or at least I hoped so. At least Pete had gotten past the 'suck me or I'll stab you' part of flirting, because even for someone like Pete, that was a drastically ineffective tactic.

How Pete managed to get laid at all, I really hadn't a clue, but somehow I'd ended up being his boyfriend so it was hardly like I could talk was it?

This whole situation just looked so entirely unlikely and downright impossible from the outside, but from my perspective, in the eye of this mess, there was really no other way things could have possibly gone down. Pete just seemed to be the right guy and as strange as that sounded, it was nothing short of the cold hard truth.

"I'm not even sure it is supposed to be an insult." I confessed to my stupidity and general lack of competence when it came down to Pete's preferred method of warfare. He let out a chuckle, shoving a comic book I couldn't see the title of a top a nearby shelf as he watched me through an amused gaze.

"I'm not sure whether to be offended by the insult or your total lack of intelligence." Thank you, Pete. Pete didn't quite get the concept of kindness, did he? Oh well, it's not like I could blame him entirely, was it? His ego was the one to blame, of course.

"I'm the one in college-" I protested, pushing aside and ignoring the inevitable truth that I would fail my exams and get kicked out of college before Gerard could even burn my copy of Pride and Prejudice.

At least if I got kicked out, I wouldn't be in all that much trouble for not giving them the goddamn book back. You see, every cloud has it silver lining - yeah, look at me. I do deserve to pass this exam, come on.

"Yeah, you're a college student now, but with an exam tomorrow which you're totally going to fail, you won't be a college student for awfully much longer, will you Mikes?" He smirked at me, an eyebrow raised in skepticality; Pete was telling nothing short of the truth.

The truth had its good points alright, but I think the disheartening bad ones most definitely overrule it all together. Negativity does seem to be entirely my best quality.

"I'm surprised I've even made it this far to be honest." I admitted, Pete's face resembling nothing short of a smirk and really I felt almost obligated to be pissed off with him, but the irritancy simply never came and I was left staring at smirking face like some sort of drooling puppy, which of course he noticed and responded to with nothing more than a mere raise of the eyebrows. I shook out of it soon after that, but the look would never quite leave Pete's head after this.

"And so you're thankful for the fact that by some heavenly miracle, you've actually made it this far in college without dying, getting kidnapped, kicked out, or going totally batshit insane- oh and you're not a stoner yet. I really have to commend you upon the last one, that's really an achievement."

I looked at him through a narrowed gaze, not quite sure whether he was being sarcastic or not, because with Pete the way he acted was just so goddamn spontaneous that things could swing either way, and maybe that was precisely why I'd found myself falling stupidly in love with the guy.

"And you're thanking God, Buddha, Allah, whatever holy being you believe up there, Yoda? Derren Brown? You're thanking their gift of a fruitful future not by studying, but by going and pissing me off at my job." What the actual fuck was this guy on?

"Yoda? You what? How high are you?" To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure as to why I'd even asked this in this first place, because I was awfully clear upon the fact that quite honestly, I really did not want to know. I think it would be better if I was unaware of how many 'herbal teas' this guy was having on a daily basis.

"High I am not. Be high on knowledge, you should, young one." Pete answered in what was quite possibly the worst Yoda impression I have ever witnessed. And as a Star Wars fan, I felt the right to smack him over the head with some sort of imaginary light saber or the like. Unfortunately, I didn't have one to hand, so it'd have to wait.

"How about you shut the fuck up before I smack you over the head with a fucking light saber, 'Yoda'?" I rolled my eyes at my poor excuse for a boyfriend, wishing I could stop being in love with him, but then realising all too late that I simply didn't come with that function. Goddamn me. Goddamn Pete. Goddamn Yoda.

"How about you study for your goddamn exam?" At least he'd dropped the Yoda thing, even if he dropped it in favour of becoming the twenty year old, perverted equivalent of my professor. He'd probably slept with her, and what concerned me the most was that I probably wasn't even that far off.

Pete was just, well Pete to say the least. There wasn't really any other way you could go about describing the guy.

"I'm going to fail regardless, that's quite clear, Pete." I sighed, looking him in the eyes. In truth, I was kind of disappointed, not because I even wanted to do this shit in the first place, but a college degree is important - it's an actual thing to be proud of, it's worth something. Mum will be proud of me, Gerard will be jealous, and Pete will most definitely get a little bit of kind-hearted teasing under way.

But I'm just Mikey and somehow, I just feel destined for failure. It really does sound depressing and words seem teased right out of an emo sitcom or something equally as dysfunctional and borderline messed up.

A part of me wants to get home and read all of Pride and Prejudice, leading me to pass the exam with flying colours, but I know I just can't do that. I physically feel like I can't. It's just that my brain won't accept the information, like it's just not accustomed to this shit.

I can write well, at least I think so, but my brain just won't process the writings of Jane Austen. And this is precisely why my life will go downhill.

I bet I'll end up reading it perfectly in like twenty years’ time when I'm living in a cardboard box outside Walmart with only this copy of Pride and Prejudice to my name. Okay, that's not the brightest of futures to be imagining - I'll just have to cling onto Pete as tightly as I can, because he has a house at the very least.

"You're not even trying to pass." It was the truth, but it really did feel like there was little point in trying. We'd watched the film though, I guess.

I'd barely focused on it, but that was my attempt at trying, that was my effort put in and I'd just have to leave the rest down to luck and pray to Yoda or sacrifice a few virgin goats or whatever else the depths of hell in Pete's head could think of within the next few minutes.

"Yeah." Pete just let out a 'hmph' noise and returned to absent-mindedly reorganising some comics in what seemed like a totally unnecessary manner.

I wondered if I'd somehow ended up managing to disappoint the guy who was content living in other people's beds and working in a small comic book store. It was unlikely, so I passed it off - probability and all that shit. See, I had listened at one point in high school.

"I'll just sacrifice some virgins to Satan or something, cover my arms in pentagrams and hope for the best." Pete had to chuckle at that, turning around from his mindless comic book arrangement and meeting me with a skeptical gaze. "Why not?"

"I doubt they'll let you into your exam looking like some sort of satanic deity." Pete had a point, but he was really just being a spoil sport here. I had no room in my life for this kind of negativity. I could be a goddamn satanic deity if I fucking wanted to.

"I'll wear long sleeves." I winked at him, looking far too smug for the subject of conversation, and I began to wonder if I would actually end up doing this.

Gerard would definitely be down for the idea, simply for the examiner's reaction if my sleeve accidentally rolled up or something. That really wouldn't be the best of situations.

"Then how will Satan know it's you he needs to give his knowledge of classic literature to?" Pete held a good point masked inside what could probably be passed off as the most ridiculous sentence to ever bare the torment of existence.

"He's Satan - I'm pretty sure a fucking hoodie isn't going to stop him in his path." Why we had even ended up discussing this I just hadn't the slightest of clues. Pete was certainly in favour of unconventional matters of conversation to say the least. At least he wasn't going on about blowing Satan, well not yet.

"If it has a cross on then Satan's pretty much fucking useless though." Pete held a good point, but by being related to Gerard I had nothing vaguely Christian in the house at all.

Gerard had a Satanist phase when he was fifteen (as you do). He learnt Latin and went about summoning demons and burning things with crosses on. He set fire to a church once, and the priests weren't particularly happy about that, but we all have our differences I guess.

To be honest, I think mum was just glad that he wasn't a brony. Sometimes I wonder why dad left, but then I remember just how fucking dysfunctional we are.

"I'll wear black." I decided that maybe I should just go along with this plan, because why not. Gerard would certainly be more than happy to cover me in pentagrams if necessary. He would probably end up using Sharpie that wouldn't come off for days though.

And even if my sleeve did roll up, I was bound to get kicked out regardless, so it wasn't really like it'd matter all that much.

"He's Satan, not Marilyn Manson." Pete rolled his eyes at me and I simply found myself shrugging it off. Satan probably appreciated a little metal and eyeliner in his time, you know? Who didn't, to be honest?

"Pete, do you dare me to actually do this?" I winked at him and Pete's jaw just dropped like a bombshell. He just looked at me in disbelief like I was supposed to be innocent. Well, in our relationship I kind of was the innocent one, but a fucking pedophile could look innocent next to Pete Wentz.

"You won't, Mikes." He sounded so certain, and I didn't really want to admit it, but it kind of was pissing me off just a little. Just a tad, marginally, hellishly. "I bet you won't."

"Oh, Wentz." I got an eyebrow raise for that, and fuck; I didn't even care in the slightest. "Are you sure about that?" I would so fucking do this and he'd be so fucking sorry, and then maybe with Satan's literary help, I'd even pass this exam, and then I wouldn't even have to worry about college, I could just become a Satanic deity or something I don't even know.

"You'll get kicked out." He had a point, but I really was just going to get kicked out regardless, so you know what? I might as well do it in style to be honest. Not that Satanism and pentagrams are usually on the cover of Vogue, but whatever they put Kirsten Stewart on, that's close enough.

"In style, in style." I reminded him, batting my eyelashes in quite possibly the gayest way known to mankind. I didn't even just top Gok Wan, I topped Gerard... and if you took that sentence in a different and even gayer way then you got a really messed up mental image. I do not anally penetrate my brother, thank you very much. That's Frank's job.

"You'll be a jobless hobo - I'm not the editor of Vogue by any means, but even I know that that is not stylish." Pete had a point to be honest, but he was just missing the part where Satan accepts me and I become a deity- yeah, I can see why he's missing that part out to be honest.

"I could get you fired and we could be jobless hobos together." I smirked at him, and he rolled his eyes, clearly not entirely accustomed to my mismatched and spontaneous, insanity driven ideas, but whatever, you take what you can get.

"Yeah, you know, I'm not quite so keen upon that idea." I could guess that with Pete's gay and glamorous lifestyle he wouldn't be awfully so keen on the cardboard box outside Walmart idea, but then again you don't meet that many people that actually are, and despite my deranged bursts of insanity, I'm not actually one of them.

"Spoil sport." It seemed a little ridiculous, but I felt like being childish; I was younger than Pete, I was allowed to be the childish one. Even if it was taking stereotypes just a little too far.

"Nah, I'm just far too hot for hobo material, you know." I was unconvinced; he was attractive, but not quite as attractive as his ego may just suggest. Pete and his ego kind of lived hand in hand and I was just a little concerned that he'd dump me for it.

That sounds just goddamn crazy, but it's Pete and goddamn batshit crazy is simply what he does best, there's no doubt about that.

"And you're saying I'm not?" I didn't know whether to be mildly offended or just glad Pete wasn't desperately trying to get in my pants at this one single moment in time. Pete was well, to put it nicely, a whore, but he was my whore, and I just hoped he could keep his hormones moderately at bay.

The two of didn't really make the most conventional of couples, but somehow we just seemed to work. I hadn't a clue why and I hadn't clue how, but you know what? I don't care. Pete's all that seems to matter.

"Yeah I am, pretty much." He winked at me and I felt myself fighting back the urge to slap him straight across the face. I wasn't usually a violent person by any means, but I think Pete definitely bought out the worst in me, and there wasn't a single doubt as to the fact that it was why he was so addictive.

Addictions were the worst, yet always the best and Pete simply made sure of that. Addictions were what kept you awake at night dying and desperate for a fix. Addictions were what ruined you slowly and yet all at once. Addictions were a consensual death but not one chosen at all.

Addictions. Pete Wentz was definitely one of them.

There were the good kind and the bad kind; comic books and Joy Division, and heroin and alcohol. I just wasn't sure if Pete was the bad or the good kind yet. I wasn't even sure if he could be defined as one or the other or if he just dwelled somewhere awkwardly in the middle.

"You're horrible." I snapped at him, my tone stern but we both knew I was joking. Pete just knew; he knew me far too well for me to feel anything but uncomfortable around him, but being Pete, he made it the best kind of uncomfortable - the only kind of uncomfortable I needed.

Pete just knew how I worked, he had me like clockwork and surely that was dangerous and there was nothing else in this whole that I could possibly be more scared of yet nothing else in this world that I'd trade for it.

"But you love me." Damn, he got me. He got me damn well good. It pissed me off a little, but I guess I didn't awfully have much choice when it came to Pete. If he was sticking around the flirtations, the immature jokes and the breaking bad box sets were sticking around too. There wasn't a doubt about that at all.

"Nah." I lied, shaking my head casually, but I was a bad liar and the two of us knew that far too well. Pete had pretty much picked that up on the first day of meeting him. The same day when I realised he too was a particularly bad liar, was when I realised that the guy couldn't spell the word 'rentals'.

"There's an 'a' in rentals." I said out of nowhere and he just looked at me like I was on something.

"I know that now, I fixed the sign, did you see?" He grinned at me, and it was true as I approached the shop I noticed that he had. It was awfully sweet but awfully confusing because I didn't imagine Pete to be quite that type.

"That was like the first ever thing you said to me wasn't it?" He grinned at me, probably remembering our little Breaking Bad conversation.

"Yeah, pretty much." I smirked to myself, wondering whether if Pete hadn't been so... well... just Pete when I met him if we'd be here now. I wondered how things really would have turned out if he'd just been attractive and polite; I'd probably be too shy to say anything and I'd never know the guy as anything more.

I couldn't imagine that. I didn't want to imagine a world without Pete, because as needy and desperate as it sounds, he's more than important to me, he's kind of everything. Well, he, my mum, Gerard, and Frank are everything. The four people that matter in my life - Ryan Ross can go hang himself with his scarves - it sounds more than a little harsh, but the guy's a serious douche.

"And we still haven't watched Breaking Bad-" And here we go again: Pete's pay attention to me - I'm needy and attractive, and also you're my boyfriend speech. I could shoot that guy and yet kiss him until he screams at the same time. It's a confusing mess of emotions to say the least.

"Not going to happen, Wentz!" I snapped at him, ignoring that gaze he was giving me with the seductive eyes, the puppy dog look and those fucking winks. I could die, but he wasn't going to control me. I was certain about that; very fucking certain, thank you very much.

"Okay, okay." He backed off in mock offense, his hands held in the air in mock surrender. If Ryan Ross was here he'd grab those hands and scarf them up within seconds.

I wondered how Pete would like it with me in control, how he'd like to be tied down- no, now is not the time, because just thinking about it practically gave me a semi and if Pete noticed he'd be more than fucking encouraged.

The problem was that I didn't have any scarves.

You see, Ryan comes prepared - he may be an absolute douche but he's terribly organised and I've got to envy that, even in a weird way. Or maybe I should just invest in a scarf or two, but just for Pete Wentz purposes, of course. I'd love to see how he'd like that.

Semi alert! Semi alert! I shifted a little, hoping my jeans were baggy enough for him not to notice, but of course, I only wore jeans tight enough to cut off the entire blood circulation in your body. God would just have it that way, wouldn't he? Fuck god. Nah, I think that's Pete's job.

I'm kind of glad Pete isn't some immortal being that was alive in the time of Jesus, because if he was, then he probably would have gotten sucked off from the messiah himself. Yeah, that's something I'd rather not think about.

"Oh shut up and kiss me." He didn't need telling twice before his lips connected with mine, pulling me up onto the countertop. Maybe with my semi this wasn't the best of ideas, but I really was not in the mood to care. I just wanted him; I needed him, no matter how hard I got and no matter how in public we were. It didn't fucking matter, because he was all I wanted and all I need.

Our lips moved in sync like they were made for one another. He went all out, pushing and biting and slipping his tongue inside, pushing it through my lips without warning, all of this in knowledge of the fact that anyone could walk in on us right now, and I think that's simply what made it better. 

My semi was turning into something a little more than a semi, which was certainly an awkward situation just waiting to happen once Pete's hands travelled downwards, and discovered just how hard I was.

That would really push him on, because then he'd have no excuse why he shouldn't suck me off, and I probably wouldn't stop him, being far too hard to think. 

Should I really want to stop him though? Why shouldn't I just let him, why shouldn't I just let him have me? There are thousands of reasons, and I think the most pressing is definitely the fact that we are very much in public.

Gerard could walk in right now, my college professor could walk in right now, my mum could walk in right now, Ryan Ross and his scarves could walk in right now, and he could tie us both down as he did god knows what- well, god probably doesn't want to know the things Ryan Ross could do with his scarves- yeah.., I'd rather not think of that to be honest.

Yet somehow, all of these reasons, these important and pressing reasons were pretty much useless in my head simply with him pressed against me and those perfect lips on mine. It was toxic, beautifully toxic. The right kind of toxic; the kind of toxic I needed.

"Told you this was good, baby." He whispered before biting down on my bottom lip; I felt like collapsing right there and then, but he was keeping me far too on edge for that. And fuck, 'baby'? Please could we make that a permanent nickname, dear god? Pete Wentz was actually going to be the end of me.

He knotted his fingers in the hair above the back my neck, pulling me closer against him, as if there was a shortage of intimacy between us anyway. "Yeah..." I breathed against his lips, feeling my hot breath drift back against my cheeks as his mouth stretched out into a grin.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?" He pulled away momentarily, watching me behind a gaze I'd murder for. I nodded quickly but he seemed awfully unsatisfied.

"I asked if you were enjoying yourself, Mikey." His words were stern but I couldn't focus as his fingers trailed under my shirt and up my spine, leaving remnants of his cold touch all the way down my back. I wanted his lips to be there, but it couldn't be so, not now, not here in this fucking public comic book store.

"Pete- fuck." I moaned as his lips trailed downwards and I knew exactly what was coming next. Pete had described this in great detail to me over the phone far too many times for my sanity's sake. I just knew where his lips were going next and just how much I'd both hate and love it, because he wouldn't make this easy for me.

He'd toy with me. He'd toy with me like hell; I'd just be a little slut in his hands, and fuck. Part of me wanted that more than anything, but rationality made me think twice. This was Pete Wentz. I knew how bad he was out of bed then I simply dreaded to think how this guy could possibly be when he gets down to it.

"Tell me Mikey," He purred against my collarbone, licking down it as I shuddered right into him. He couldn't help but let out a giggle. "I asked if you were enjoying yourself." He sucked at my collarbone, nibbling and licking like crazy until my whole body was desperate, needy and shaking against him.

"Yes... oh fuck-" My words were cut off as my mouth erupted with a moan as he pulled my collar bone further, attaching his lips to my nibble. He pushed it through his lips, sucking and squeezing, running his tongue around the outside as I was begging against him, nothing more than a desperate little slut.

He let go of my nipple and I let out a choked sigh, causing the corners of his lips to twist up into a cocky smile as he licked a strip right up to my neck, just nibbling a little at first, before he looked into my eyes, the most devilish grin setting upon his face, but then again, that was just Pete Wentz.

"Oh, Mikey baby. I love this part." And before I could even comprehend as to what he was about to do, he was sucking at my neck, nibbling and tearing away at the flesh making it sore within seconds.

I was a crumbling mess in his hands and he loved that more than anything at all. I loved it too of course, even if it wasn't quite the best for my dignity, but whatever.

"Pete- oh my god-" He pulled his lips up and put a finger to my lips in a terribly seductive manner. He made it out like he owned me and in that messed up little head of his, I bet he just loved to think he did, but he didn't own me at all.

I'd show him, I'd fucking show him- if only he could stop reducing me to a quaking mess for a few seconds, that's all I ask.

"You're so loud, baby." Pete mused, running his finger down from my lips to the collar of my shirt. He tugged at it just a little, trying to stretch the finger out to breaking point, simply in favour of exposing more of my chest, because Pete was a little whore like that, but he was my whore, my favourite whore- now that really does sound dodgy.

If anyone's the sugar daddy here, it's Pete. I promise you that. Not that he is, of course. That shit's fucking dodgy - wow.

"We don't need this, do we?" He fumbled with the top button, taking very little care with the fact that I might actually need this shirt, you know, being in a public place and all. But don't worry, it's not like anyone could possibly walk in at any time, of course. There's no chance of that at all, is there?

Not like there are even windows- shit! There are fucking windows. Anyone could walk past right now or walk in right now and see us. They could easily see Pete and I, and what he's doing to me, and let's not even talk about the badly hidden problem downstairs, which I'm just eternally thankful to our holy lord Yoda that Pete hasn't found yet.

"Pete-" I mumbled against his touch, panicking a little and trying to get him to stop, but of course, with him being Pete, this would be ultimately harder than I had previously expected. Emphasis on the word harder, because this situation isn’t the only thing that's practically rock solid here. This was an awkward situation if there ever was one.

"Mikes?" He replied, his fingers reaching the second button, yet no stopping at all, his fingers attending to the remaining presence of my shirt as if it was a worldwide disaster. Which it really wasn't, in fact, it was the only thing that seemed to be keeping this world alive- well, my world at the very least.

"Anyone could walk in - this is a comic store, and-" I protested, trying to explain my situation to him in a way that we could both possibly comprehend in a situation as intoxicating as this, but it seemed to be a pretty hard task to fulfil. 

For one, Pete was stubborn and getting him to listen was like teaching a cockroach to speak fluent French. Secondly, he was fucking me up to the point my breathing pattern was barely sustainable, my breath was hitched and I had to focus upon getting the air to travel in and out of my respiratory system successfully.

To be honest, I even reckoned upon my respiratory system shutting off entirely within the last few seconds, and I doubt Pete would like that, because even though it's Pete, I'd be a dead body and I really hope he's not into that. If there is anything that guy isn't into, please let it be that.

"You sound like you think I'm going to fuck you." Pete smirked and my jaw just dropped, because this was really not of my intent, but of course, with Pete being Pete, he bound to think otherwise and twist the situation in his own favour.

"I was only planning on making out with you, but this can be arranged-" How about nothing is arranged? This is a goddamn public place – has he still not quite managed to grasp that? Because it really doesn't look like it.

"Pete-" My words were cut off by Pete slamming his lips against mine. Fuck. There was nothing I could, or even could possibly want to do about this situation now.

Goddamn Pete; he'd fucking lured me in and tricked me into letting him fuck me in a comic book store of all goddamn places.

I was clueless about the whole situation, but if there was one thing I knew, it was that I knew that things really weren't going to go well by any means.

"You're fucking beautiful you know." Pete whispered, nibbling on my ear, and generally using any means possible to seduce me and render me helpless against this goddamn countertop. I swear the guy was worse than Ryan.

Not that I had any first-hand experience with Ryan Ross' sex habits, and thank god for that. Frank had obliged in spilling a few details though, much to Gerard's disgruntlement and my general amusement. I did love hearing about Ryan and how much of a dickhead he was. It really was the highlight of my day, just in a mildly sadistic manner.

"I have realised by now that you calling me beautiful is really just a ploy to get you to sleep with me..." I pushed the words out between pants. Pete dominating my limp frame with ease; he was good at this, there was no doubt about that, regardless of just how spiteful I wanted to be to the guy. I couldn't argue with his ability - that was for sure.

Then again, he was Pete, so he would have had tons of experience. I wonder if there's someone he's met that he hasn't slept with- oh dear god, please tell me he hasn't been with Gerard, because that's really not something I want to think about right now at all.

"Oh, you know me far too well." Pete giggled, pushing my torso down against the countertop and hoisting himself on top of me. He didn't even warn me, he just went for it and it was both dangerous and terribly attractive, which was a devilish combination if I ever knew one. Pete just knew how to dominate someone, that was made entirely clear.

It wasn't just the way his fingers moved, it was the way his lips moved, his tongue moved, his hips moved, the way his whole body moved, worked and ticked in time and in sync to every single movement I made, keeping me pressed down and rendering me far too infatuated to even consider trying to do something to hinder Pete's current dominant position.

"You're beautiful. I mean it." Pete trailed his fingers down my exposed upper chest. His body clashing into mine and then I realised just what he'd discovered... yeah, the problem downstairs, was now Pete's problem, or at least he'd make it so without a doubt.

"Now this is interesting." I felt his fingers travelling downwards and I attempted to grab them and stop him, but he pushed past my grip with eyes, content on getting down there and content with the fact that nothing was going to stop him.

"Pete-" I stammered out, gasping against his touch, because if I didn't have a full on raging hard one already, I definitely did now. He felt me through my jeans, only increasing the prominence of my bulge, which would be without a doubt problematic later.

"Oh my god-" I couldn't help but fucking moan at the top of my lungs as he squeezed.

Pete's grin only broadened; he liked hearing me moan and scream for him. He wanted me on my knees for him - he wanted to be in total and utter control, but that simply didn't look like it was going to happen at all by any means.

"Oh my god-" The same three words again, but this time I darted my head instantly, because this time the moan wasn't from me, those three words hadn't slipped my lips, they hadn't even slipped Pete's. The words belonged to someone else entirely.

Pete noticed it immediately, his eyes widening as he shot upwards and pulling himself off of me. That hurt me a little, because he wouldn't listen to me at all, but as soon as someone else really came into the picture where he was and how he was really mattered all that much to him.

But I shrugged it off, because it wasn't just like he could acknowledge someone else's presence and then continue to make out with me, as much as I'd like the two of us to continue in our own private bubble away from the rest of reality, things simply just didn't work like that.

I found myself gingerly sitting up on the countertop, preparing myself to face the worst, but instead I found myself staring at a tall guy with an untameable afro.

He didn't look all that shocked, so I reckoned the guy knew Pete to some degree, because anyone who's even said hello to Pete knows exactly what he's like.

"Pete... seriously?" The guy just looked between the two of us with what appeared to be permanently raised eyebrows. I couldn't help but blush, because this was really the first impression this guy was going to get of me, so I really just hoped he was an asshole so at the very least it wouldn't matter all that much.

"In the comic book store? At your job?" This guy seemed to share the same morals and principles as me, so unluckily- yet luckily, he didn't seem to be all that much of an asshole, leaving me in two minds about him, because this was really not the first impression I want to be making. I'm not Pete, as heartless as that sounds, it's true.

"Ray..." Pete pulled out the puppy dog eyes and then it clicked - this was Ray Toro with the 'fro. I just hoped that he and his 'fro were in a good mood today. And I really goddamn hoped that he and his fro weren't stupidly judgemental towards guy that they first saw getting it on with Pete Wentz. If things got down to it then I could totally just blame this all on Pete.

"So who's this then?" Ray directed his attention towards me and I felt even more self-conscious than I had before.

This was going to be what finalised his first impression of me, so shit, I better make this good. I need to string together words in the epitome of eloquence and spin Ray Toro and his 'fro into have at least a mildly respectable opinion of me.

"I-I'm Mikey." I stammered out: yeah, so much for that eloquence and his respectable opinion. It looks like that's all going straight down the drain by now. Ray just looked me up and down, before throwing a glance in Pete's direction.

I guess he didn't know what to think at all - I didn't. I didn't look like Pete's type at all and I bet Ray was wondering just quite how desperate the guy had gotten by now, but by some miracle, things really weren't like that at all.

"He's my boyfriend." Pete looked awfully smug and Ray's jaw just dropped like a bombshell, obviously not expecting that, if he was even expecting anything at all, because really what could anyone possibly expect from a situation quite so unconventional as this one.

"You're not doing commitment now are you? Oh my god." His eyes darted to me, giving me the once over again, looking so deeply as if I'd magically turn into a fairy or something like that. Which I didn't, of course. I'm gay, but not quite that gay. The fairy ability is reserved for Gerard only.

"Who is this guy?"

"Mikey fucking Way-"

"Way? Gerard Way's little brother?" The two of us nodded and Ray just shook his head defiantly, his eyes widening like crazy.

Yeah, Ray knew Gerard; I knew that at the very least. Gerard thought Ray was a decent human being, but being my antisocial twat of a brother, he hadn't said awfully much more.

"No, no, no. You're kidding me, Wentz. That is not Gerard's little brother." He glanced at me again as if I might just disappear if he took his eyes off me for longer than a second, which was a colossally baffling thought within its entirety.

"Yes, he is." Pete smirked, seemingly awfully proud of himself and Ray looked like he was about to smack himself across the head with a frying pan and several chairs. I was concerned about the damage it'd do to that mighty mess of hair he has going on there. That's a thing of beauty.

"Does Gerard know?" Ray looked between the two of once again, most likely trying to comprehend as to how on earth we could possibly work, because I could relate to that thought as it was one that ran through my head on an all too frequent basis.

"Does Gerard know that you're screwing his little brother?" He repeated, his eyes almost widening with every word that left his lips.

"Yeah, he does." I answered and Ray just looked at me with an open mouth, as if he was expecting the whole world to spontaneously combust at that moment, which it didn't sadly, because that would have been both cool to watch and also extremely useful for getting me out of an incredibly awkward situation.

"How has he not killed either of you yet?" Ray just seemed entirely baffled by the fact that both of us were still alive, intact and in one piece. I really wasn't all that concerned, seeing as Gerard seemed to be the one who'd actually encouraged me to start dating Pete.

"Dude, I'm just that fabulous." Pete lied, because there was no way in hell that was at all true, and being such a lovely boyfriend it'd be nothing short of my pleasure to point it out.

"He's a bit distracted with Frank." I explained, giving Pete a little playful / totally-not-playful shove.

"I thought they had some trouble?" Ray raised his eyebrows, seemingly far too interested in the sex lives of his friends for any normal guy, but then again, really what could I expect; he's friends with Pete for god's sake.

"Yeah, Frankie was with Ryan Ross with the bondage and scarves and personal hygiene - lots of eyeliner too." Ray just blinked rapidly at Pete, most likely trying to banish the words he'd just heard permanently out of existence. He wasn't really doing the best of jobs.

"I'd rather if I could start my shift without hearing about everyone's sex lives, and experiencing you two's in person." I had to blush at that, because well we were even doing anything, but on the plus side the anxiety inducement of Ray and his afro's current appearance had utterly removed the problem downstairs, so I guess intruders and public places had their uses, if awkward ones at that.

Ray just looked at me, his gaze undecipherable, which was probably the most concerning in relation to his words, "run, kid. Run while you can."

"Shut up, Toro." Pete gave him a slap, just because Pete was a real nice guy like that, who cared deeply about his friends and their wellbeing.

"Ouch!" He rubbed his cheek, glaring at Pete out of the corner of his eye, clearly just a little pissed off at the guy, but really you couldn't blame him, you couldn't blame him in the slightest. Pete was an asshole when he wanted to be. "Be nice."

"Or what?" Pete let a smirk ride over his lips, folding his arms and shooting a defiant look in Ray's direction. I wondered if Ray would end up using afro power and zapping him or something. That'd be unfortunate, but kind of cool to watch I guess.

"I'll chuck you out." Ray gave him a deadly serious look, which only the fluffiness of his afro kind of ruined.

"I work here!" Pete protested, not that I assumed he'd want to say here unnecessarily, seeing as his shift had actually finished five or so minutes ago.

"Yeah, it's the end of your shift - now go." Pete gave Ray a disgruntled expression, "I will tell Gerard in graphic detail what I saw today-"

Pete didn't need telling twice, grabbing me by the hand and racing down to the car park where his 'car' was parked. His car was an utter mess, leaving the word 'car' to only be used very lightly. It was littered with all kinds of shit that I'd rather not think about and the steering was barely functional, which of course could hold nothing but the most disastrous of consequences.

But at least we weren't stuck in an awkward encounter with Ray Toro, but little did I know just how much more awkward things could quite possibly get. Life just had it out for me today, I guess.

-

"What are you doing?" I watched as Pete flattened the front seats out, pushing what looked like several used condoms back under and into corners where he just hoped I wouldn't see them. Of course, being particularly observant, I did. "Is that a used condom?"

His eyebrows flew up like a space rocket. "Uhh..." His cheeks flushed a cutesy pink and I couldn't help but giggle at Pete Wentz getting embarrassed over a condom of all things. "Maybe." Now this was cute.

"Awh, you're blushing." He just buried his head in my side, trying to camouflage his pink face in with the black of my shirt - it wasn't working, as you could quite easily guess.

"Am not." He protested, his words muffling against the fabric and I felt his soft, warm breath on my skin.

"You totally are." I grinned at him, running my fingers through his messy hair. It felt like sex hair, but really it was just ‘making out in a comic book store only to be rudely interrupted by Ray and his afro’ hair. Which was just as good, if not a little awkward.

"Yeah whatever, that won't be the only used condom in my car soon enough though." He winked at me and my jaw simply dropped as I managed to piece together as to just what he was implying. But dear god it was Pete, what else could the asshole possibly even fathom implying?

"What-t?" The word stumbled from my lips in a tipsy tumble of inelegance; the ‘t’ stuttered and dragged out to only add to more utter social inadequacy.

"Car sex is the best." He just winked at me, fully showing me exactly what he was implying now. This time there was certainly no room for doubt whatsoever, if there ever even was with someone like Pete.

I just shook my head defiantly; I loved him, I was awfully too sure about that, but he was Pete and whether I trusted myself with him in that way was a different matter entirely, because well he was Pete, and fuck. I didn't have a clue what he could possibly be like.

Deep down, I was scared. I could trust the guy or at least I hoped so but that did nothing to hinder the bubbly pot of nerves and anxiety that was close to exploding right in my bones. It'd make an awful mess - that I was sure of. I just wasn't sure whether I was ready.

I mean I damn well wanted to have sex being a sad little lonely virgin and all that shit, but the matter of actually being ready was a different one entirely. "I didn't actually mean that I wanted to fuck you Pete... I...”

"You want me to fuck you." Pete didn't seem to take the same approach as me though, because being Pete he was a reckless little shithead that didn't look back - not even once. And they say opposites attract.

"Pete-" I groaned and he just giggled, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of god knows where. Pete and his endless alcohol stash concerned me, but what exactly he'd spiked that whiskey with could only concern me more. It’s off aroma penetrated my nasal cavities from here.

"What are you- have you planned this? Pete, I'm just not sure if I want to do this- I uhh... I love you, but this is different. This is so important, and..." I trailed off, biting my lip and making it awfully obvious that I was doing nothing but avoiding his gaze, "I'm scared Pete."

"Awh, Mikes." He pulled me into his arms and letting me snuggle into his lap as if nothing ever quite needed to happen - Pete was the best boyfriend, with a doubt. "It's okay - I just wanted to make you feel special. But if you don't feel comfortable then that's fine too and much more important." I rubbed my nose into his side and he giggled a little.

"I love you so much." I mumbled into his side and he pulled me up, pressing his lips against mine in one swift motion. "I trust you, you know that? This is nothing personal-" He cut my words off with yet another kiss to my lips.

"Of course I know that, Mikes. I'm fabulous - how could you not appreciate that?" I raised my eyebrows at that, questioning his words entirely and much to his utter dismay. "I was just trying to make this night special so you don't feel quite as bad when you get kicked out of college."

"Thank you?" I wasn't quite sure whether this was supposed to be a good thing or not. I mean it was inevitable, but I would have Pete to be not quite so direct about it. Oh well, the inevitable is inevitable after all, even someone quite as brain-dead as myself could figure that one out.

He chucked me the bottle of whiskey, leaving me to barely grasp the bottle between my two sweaty palms before it could shatter all over both of us, and Pete's car, which I doubted that he'd be awfully too pleased about.

"Take a drink." His words were an order, but portrayed in a friendly manner, with the smile and all, which did nothing but confuse the fuck out of me, as Pete tended to have an awful habit of doing, especially recently. That was getting rather irritating, but whatever it was part of the Pete 'package'- and no, not that package.

I eyed the whiskey suspiciously, even smelling it like some sort of demented sniffer dog, wondering what Pete could have possibly put in it, but then deciding that I didn't care and took a swig regardless.

Well, shit.

My head was spinning like I was on some sort of permanently jacked up carousel as I passed it back. That wasn't a good sign if there ever was one, but I think the tipsiness had already sunk in enough for me to not to care.

"That was Ray with the 'fro, wasn't it?" I was definitely just a little tipsy already. I could tell by the way my words flew from my lips in some sort of permanent hurl of word vomit. It was disgusting, but so would be some of the shit I'd end up saying.

"Yeah." He confirmed, smirking a little as he realised I'd actually listened to the words he poured from his lips far too much. I didn't want to let his ego have that one, if anything at all. It sounded selfish, but it was really kind of... in a weird way, for his own good.

"I dread to think what Frank and Gerard got up to last night. I didn't see either of them as I left and I daren't go looking." Pete just chuckled, sipping the whiskey far too elegantly. He shouldn't be able to look like some sort of goddamn prince whilst intoxicating himself beyond belief.

"I think you should repay me." He threw the words out there, or maybe it was just the alcohol speaking by now - he'd drank maybe just a little too much.

"What for the fact that we didn't fuck last night?" I exclaimed; Pete was actually ridiculous. Then again, wasn't that just why I was so stupidly fucking in love with the guy? Yeah, it was, and a smirk couldn't help but pull itself face over my lips.

"Something like that." He mumbled in response, a grinning amusing itself on those kissable lips of his. I wanted to just pin him down and kiss the hell out of him, but I'm sure he'd do that for me soon enough, being Pete and all.

"You're the one that fell asleep." I reminded him, a wink never evading my gaze. He groaned, giving me a gentle shove, clearly just a little pissed off regarding his last night spurt of narcolepsy.

"I was tired - you have a comfy bed, your mum made nice food." He grumbled into my side and I could tell he was going to beg me to practically live there.

If he did, things wouldn't be quite as he imagined them though; I'd be making him sleep on the fucking floor and mum would get back to her old habits of pot noodle and cup-a-soup, her speciality dish of course being uncle ben's fried rice.

"It's not a fucking hotel-" I protested, but Pete seemed to have other ideas about me forming any kind of opinion that he was opposed to.

"Yeah, I know it's not - people tend to have more sex in hotels." I just rolled my eyes at him. Pete was bound to say that, and maybe if he'd just managed to stay away simply a little bit longer then maybe I would have been slightly more inclined for something to go on between us, even something of the kind of unspoken nature Pete was most obviously suggesting.

"Oh, come on." I giggled at the desperate tone within his voice; I liked seeing Pete like this - fucking desperate and needy. It was mildly entertaining and just a little bit too attractive. "You owe me, Mikes."

"Not really." I protested, letting a maniacal grin devour the bottom half of my face, not in a creepy way, in a ‘guys look, Pete Wentz is being such a fucking flirt he actually made me smile’ kind of way.

"It's only fair." Pete grumbled, sounding far too much like a temperamental toddler. It was kind of cute, though, to be honest. "Just let me fuck you. You don't even have to do anything just lie there and let me fuck you."

"That's no fun though." I winked at him, trying to guess as to just how much I'd most definitely end up regretting the next few words to leave my lips. It was a bad idea, they were definitely a bad idea, but I had to go for it; I'd love to see Pete's reaction. "Maybe I want to fuck you."

His jaw dropped at first, his expression morphing into one of shock and disbelief, but then his lips began to twitch and his words came out in a tidal wave. "I'd like to see you try." A smirk rode over his lips like it owned the whole goddamn world.

"I will, don't worry." I winked at him, wondering just quite how messed up a little bit of harmless flirting with Pete Wentz would render me.

"Come on then!" He grinned, grabbing and trying to push me down into a kiss, but there was no way that was happening, well at least not just yet.

"Nah, I'm not quite drunk enough yet."

"Oh shut up-" I shouldn't love seeing Pete so frustrated, or at least love it quite this much. It was a little too sadistic, you know.

"Ah!" I grinned and watched as Pete practically threw a can of beer at me; I only managed to catch the goddamn thing at the last minute before it could crack open and exploded all over this damn car and the two of us.

I cracked it open cautiously; waiting for it to explode in my face, but by some miracle of witchcraft, the thing didn't even fizzle. I eyed it one final time, before cautiously putting it to my lips and taking a sip.

"We're going to talk and I'm going to slowly sip this and when I'm too drunk to talk properly then I will fuck you." I decided that this was a sufficient ultimatum to keep Pete satisfied. So now all I had to do was keep Pete occupied with my flirtations until he fell asleep and of course there was the utmost necessity that I say sober. Pete wasn't going to like that though, of course.

The problem was that I wasn't exactly the most knowledgeable candidate on the subject of fucking someone. I'd watched porn, of course but that did nothing to the fact that I was still very much a virgin. Virgins were inexperienced and really not good enough for Pete Wentz, but nothing not even him could stop me trying.

I took a sip, letting the liquid soothe my throat, wondering as to whether or not that by some hellish miracle I'd actually end up going through with this. I doubted it but in this messed up world you could really never know. "What are we going to talk about?" Pete asked, and eyebrows rose as he took another swig of whiskey.

"We could talk about how I'm going to fail my exam and get kicked out of college and live in a basement all my life, but I'm not quite in a negative mood today." I grumbled, wondering if I'd really have to accept the force and become one with Yoda to even consider passing this shit or whether Pete was just high as fuck.

Pete giggled, yup high as fuck - my bet's on the ‘herbal teas’, "we could talk about how beautiful you are."

"We could talk about how your attempts of getting me into bed with you are getting shitter and shitter."

"No, I mean it. You are fucking beautiful." I had blush that time and I couldn't help but wonder if by some ungodly miracle that he'd actually meant it. He's Pete Wentz; he couldn't have, could he? Fuck, this is just confusing.

I just looked at him oddly. "You don't mean that. You're Pete you don't do romantic-"

"Hey! I made an effort with candles." He protested, looking at me through this stupid little puppy dog eyes of his; I wanted to both kiss him and stab him, but not at the same time, that might be a little awkward, just a little.

"Along with a massive fire hazard." I took no haste in reminding him of the obvious pyromanian dangers involving a living room full of candles. Pete however just didn't seem to see much of a point in health and safety, but then again, he was that kind of guy.

"Shut up, you're supposed to be the pyromaniac." I laughed, taking much more of a swig than I had intended to, the whiskey slithered down my throat and infecting my systems with its legalised poison.

"Ugh." I mumbled, realising that maybe all this alcohol wasn't the best of ideas. Then again, anything involving Pete Wentz could hardly file under that category.

"Like seriously, I could marry you right now." I widened my eyes at the gravity of Pete's confession. He was just fucking around of course, but still, the words hit me hard, because unlike Pete, to me, words actually did matter.

"A teenage vow in a parking lot - how romantic." I rolled my eyes at Pete's generally inadequacy when it comes to romanticism. He can do inappropriate jokes, seduction and bizarre attempts at the flirting but I don't think he's all that good on the whole lovey dovey Valentine's Day front.

"As I said, romance is one of my best qualities." He grinned, winking at me, leaving my raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes to do nothing but call complete and utter bullshit.

"I find that impossibly hard to believe." I shook my beer can - empty. Oh god; my intent clearly wasn't going exactly to plan. “Pass me another-"

"No." He whispered, crawling on top of me, his face laden with a devilish smirk, worthy of no one other than Pete Wentz himself. "You can drink later, but now we both know what you're going to do."

"I don't." I played innocent, grinning a little and wondering if I was quite intoxicated enough to even consider going through with this, but I liked to tease him- or at least the alcohol did, that was for sure. "Demonstrate?"

"You had your chance for demonstration last night, Mikes." He purred, still on top of me with a desperate looked in his eyes, which I could help gaze into with utter longing.

"You fell asleep." I insisted, taking care to remind him of this fact at every possible opportunity, simply in order to piss him off for the most part.

"I don't care." He whispered, before pushing his lips down against mine before I could ever fathom resisting any further.

The problem with Pete Wentz was that even if you didn't want to kiss him, he made you want to kiss him, because he just knew how to fucking kiss. That guy was born to kiss if you could ever be born for anything.

Sometimes I find myself wondering as to why Pete isn't just a prostitute, but I guess even he is a little too classy for that.

"Fuck..." I found myself moaning against his lips as our tongues came into play. I didn't want to give in and let that ego of his know I was enjoying this, but I couldn't help it, I couldn't help it at all.

He chuckled, moaning back, leaving me to wonder as to how the hell I was going to manage to successfully top Pete. I knew even now that I could do it and I knew better than anything that he wasn't going to even let me consider it.

"You're nervous." He whispered, pulling away and running a cold finger down my exposed chest. I shivered into his touch, bringing out a chuckle in his voice.

"No." I lied. I'm not a good liar, as we've covered, so we can all just imagine how well this went. "You're stalling." I pointed out, but it'd be an accusation his ego was far too inflated to even notice.

"I do like your attitude, but I can spot a liar, Way." He ran his fingers through my hair, his eyes trailing over my neck and I assumed he was about to continue his work from earlier. We never did get finished in that comic book store, but fortunately things were better in here, more comfortable, more alcohol, more Pete.

"I can spot a liar in you."

"Mmm... yeah, whatever." He shrugged yet another of my accusations off and simply knotted his fingers in my hair, tugging on the brown strands. "I'm going to kiss you now and you're going to fuck me, and Mikes?"

"Yeah?" I stammered out, more than just a little nervous regarding the whole ordeal, because fuck, I'd never done anything even vaguely comparable to this in the past.

"Make it good."

Fuck, why had I agreed to do this? How had I possibly gotten myself quite so drunk, fuck my life. No, that appears to be Pete's job. That appears to be Pete's job and awfully too realistically right now.

I looked up at the guy trying to subdue my need for him, but I just couldn't - one glance into those pretty little eyes of his and fuck- I was a goner. He just knew how I worked far, far too well. It was ridiculous and I hated him, but there also was the terribly complex issue of loving him that just went hand in hand like nothing else.

"Pete..." I mumbled; my blush obvious and he met my gaze, an inquisitive look behind his sparkling eyes.

"Yeah?" He mumbled into the silence, our intimacy on a momentary hold. I missed him pressed up against him; I hated to admit it but I was cold, I was incomplete without him. That sounded so needy and fucking desperate as hell, but nothing had ever sounded quite so much like the truth.

"You know I'm a virgin." I whispered, dodging his gaze because I didn't want to witness his reaction. He knew this already, but these words in this context were almost on par to admitting defeat.

He just smiled a smile that turned into a smirk within countless seconds, "no, I know you're a natural."

I raised my eyebrows and before I could protest, he had me down against the back seat and I swear I heard the whiskey bottle shatter somewhere, but somehow neither of us could quite manage to care. Even if the whiskey was long gone and soiling half his car, it didn't quite matter anywhere near as much as what we had between us mattered.

He heaved our lips together, initiating a passionate and steamy kiss, but within seconds everything stopped as he suddenly pulled himself up, adjusting his position so he was just sat with his legs hooked around my waist.

"What? Did I do something wrong?" I whispered into the silence just far too scared and all very nervous in entirety.

He simply chuckled, his face painting itself in the colours of joy, "you are just so cute."

He jumped up from the rather awkward position he was on top of me in; he was practically straddling me if you wanted to put it into technical terms, and scrambled around with the car radio before putting on Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, and then climbing back on top of me, baring one simple explanation, "You know this, the two of us, it's just better with music."

"I love Joy Division." I told him, grinning just a little at how cheesy Pete had managed to make the whole ordeal.

"I know. I've been doing some research." I blushed at that and he just giggled, clearly all too proud of his stalkerish tendencies, even if they were of the dysfunctional kind.

"You really do sound like a stalker now." I noted, with my eyebrows raised.

He didn't even make effort with a verbal response, and with a simple shake of his head, he just went straight for reuniting our lips, and boy was I complaining? Not at all. Pete Wentz was fucking golden. Goddamn fucking golden, I tell you.

He dragged his kisses down my neck as his fingernails trailed down my spine, tracing the prominent bones twice over as he whispered things I was far too tensed up to comprehend. His voice came to my ears soft and seductive like a lullaby- well... kind of like a creepy pedophile lullaby, but Pete, in a worrying way, kind of made it work.

He continued sucking my neck as I collapsed under him; coming to the realisation that it was in fact I who would be topping and here I was dying under his lips on my neck. I was not going to make it that far like this, that was for damn well certain.

I'd end up coming all over him within the next few minutes if we continued at this rate, and despite how desperate Pete was, I would have imagined that he would prefer me to hold on a little longer at the very least.

"You're such a fucking virgin." He whispered against my skin, clearly using some kind of Pete Wentz psychic sense to notice just how fucking close I was already.

"Mmm..." I couldn't do anything but agree, my breathing too constrained to even consider letting anything else out than an incoherent mumble.

"You're not going to be able to fuck me." He loved this; he loved this all, because he knew I was a mess already and boy did he want to send me straight to breaking point, not that I was even that far off, making Pete's mischievous ordeal nothing but an easy one for him.

"Mmm- no, I am." He chuckled pulling my shirt off and licking down my exposed chest to the waistline of my boxers. This was such a bad idea.

"Fuckk..." I could feel the precome already and I guess Pete could discover it soon enough at this rate, or if he kept with this foreplay I wouldn't even warn him when I came out full stream, leaving him to sort out that kind of mess as he desired.

"You're pathetic, I love you." Pete grinned as he fiddled with the waistband of my boxers, pressing kisses to my protruding hip bones. I always thought my hips were kind of weird in the way the stuck out like shitty little waist wings, but Pete made them feel special; Pete made all of me feel special.

"Fuck..." I moaned into his touch like a desperate little whore.

"I'll take that as an 'I love you too'."

"Mmm..." Yeah turns out in a state like this, I'm not exactly a world renowned socialite. Who would have known?

Pete slid his hand under my boxers, stroking me and I shuddered right into him. "I think I'll top." I couldn't protest with his hands down there, letting out nothing more than desperate moans as he continued to stroke me into submission.

"You want me to fuck you?" He whispered, teasing me as he stroked his hand down the curves on my hip bones and tucking his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans, pulling me closer to him, as if we were practically breathing one another's hot breath already.

"Yeah..." I mumbled, giving in and knowing that I wasn't capable - I'd be taking him. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad - I've heard it's painful, but if it's not right it can be heaven. I'm assuming Pete's sexpertise is well up to par, or at least hoping so in this case.

"Magic word?" He grinned, waggling his eyebrows like a sadistic asshole that was enjoying my frustration more than anyone ever should, because goddamn- Pete was an asshole.

"Please... Fuck... Me..." He unzipped my jeans, teasing me and riding his hands down my ass with my jeans, of course while doing this he was also taking about as long as humanely possible. Was he genuinely trying to make me lose it all right now? He wanted to fuck me right? And we were still in some amounts of clothing now.

"Fuck..." I moaned into his icy cold touch, pulling myself into his grip - needing more, wanting more. Pete's touch was my addiction, my curse, my downfall, my everything.

"You're so needy." He whispered, finally pulling my jeans straight off, finally freeing me from the ass molestation which he really had been enjoying far too much.

"Undress me." He ordered, winking at me in a sign of pure sadism.

"Huh?" This wasn't a strip club the last time I checked, but I suppose being Pete's car, it kind of functions as both.

"Come on, this is hardly fair with you in your boxers and me fully clothed, is it now, Mikes?" Fuck - he was deadly fucking serious, and I clearly didn't have a choice with this one, especially not judging by Pete's expectant gaze.

I could hardly amount to Pete's masses of apparent stripper expertise, but I did manage to pull his shirt off and place an array of kisses down his chest. He moaned into a few of them, spurring me on, and maybe convincing me that I wasn't quite so shit at this.

I didn't want to be the virgin though, I wanted to make him moan and scream; I wanted to be in control and Pete was not going to expect what was coming until I finally won. Pete shouldn't think he's all that, because by next time he'll be the one taking my clothes off and boy, that's only just the start - he'll be begging and moaning like a little whore for me.

I'll be in control and he'd just better watch out, because today, I don't how and I don't know why, but little innocent virgin Mikey Way isn't quite so innocent anymore.

"You're doing good, baby." He knotted his fingers in my hair as I slid his jeans off mimicking what he'd done to me, except I took the initiative to get a good ass squeeze in there as well. "Fuck, that's not fair."

"Who said anything was?" He shrugged it off, pulling at the waistband of my boxers with his teeth before I could ever comprehend what he was doing. "Fuck...” He pulled them down and licked me once over, getting a trail of precome for his trouble as well. I was really leaking now, and things could only increase.

He eyed the precome with a grin worthy of a true maniac, "now do you want me to suck you, or do you want me to fuck you?" He asked, smirking as he simply flicked my tip and I had to fight the urge to disregard my dignity and give into him, but no - I wasn't going to do that, I wasn't go to let him do that, not at all and especially not now.

"I want to fuck you." I insisted, tugging at his boxers, a grinning tugging at the corners of my lips, because Pete didn't have a clue what was coming up his street soon enough.

"Oh, this again?" He winked at me, a smirk laden upon his lips and a small rosy pink blush forming upon his cheeks, which he was trying his best and admittedly not doing a very good job of hiding.

"I keep to my word, Wentz." After getting rid of the complication that was his boxers, I went straight in for him, playing with him; letting my fingers run down him like tiny raindrops. I wanted him to scream, to beg, to moan - all for me. I needed him to want me and not just to want me but let me know it.

"Mikeyy..." He moaned into my touch; maybe I'm not such of an awkward virgin after all - who would have guessed, huh? "I'm so going to top, you know." And yet he still persisted, despite my furious and iron set intentions.

"Not a chance." He giggled, pushing me down and grabbing my legs, pulling them over his shoulders before I could even comprehend what was happening. "I'm fucking you."

As he leaned over to grab some lube and a condom, I switched our positions so I was on top. I wasn't at all sure as to how on god's earth I'd managed it, but with him underneath me, I wasn't in the position to complain at all, "I'm fucking you." I argued back like an angry two year old. He simply shook his head.

"Pete, we've been through this." I winked at him, grabbing the condom from his fingers and tearing open the condom before sliding it on, fumbling just a little, because admittedly, I'd really never done this before.

"You're a virgin." he protested, still finding stupid reasons that somehow still existed in this godforsaken corner of existence as to why he and his sorry ass should get the pleasure of penetrating me and my sorry ass, which if he hadn't caught up by now, was not happening.

"Not for long." I grinned, pushing him back again from where he was shuffling about like some sort of frustrated teenager who need to be home alone to jack off and was currently stuck on some family vacation for the next month.

"You barely know what to do-"

"Porn does wonders, Wentz." I really felt as if I was almost turning into Pete himself by now, which really was an awfully perplexing way for things to turn out, but damn. I was supposed to be the innocent one wasn't I?

That really wasn't working out by the looks of things now was it? You know what? Being innocent really isn't all it's cracked up to be - I'd much rather be the one dominating stubborn little Pete Wentz here.

"Porn is inaccurate." He argued a valid yet tiresome point. Porn was inaccurate, yes, but it was still sex and that was close enough to the same thing. It wasn't like I was trying to fist him with a banana or monkey piss flavoured lube or whatever the hell the deepest depths of insanity could possibly fathom bringing into creation.

Porn was really fucking weird at times, especially the shit Gerard watched, now that was just beyond messed up. I walked in on him watching that shit once and let's just say that I could never look at hamsters the same way again, and hats for that matter. Ew.

I just... ew... From what little I saw from it I was already mentally scarred, I didn't understand as to what depth of insanity or vision of Satan had caused Gerard to be inclined to watch that shit, by choice, as well.

"I'm sure you'll tell me if I slip up, baby - don't worry." I reassured Pete who still remained awfully disgruntled, childishly argumentative, and just far too unconvinced.

I ignored his disbelief in my ability to fuck him like he'd never forget, because boy, I'd goddamn show him, and got what seemed like far too much lube on my fingers.

I couldn't bring myself to care all that much - I mean too much lube couldn't be that bad, I mean it's not as if we're likely to drown in it or anything is it? Shrugging it off, I took in a deep breath and pushed one finger into him.

"You're using far too much lube." Pete, practically being a porn star noticed my discrepancy within seconds, but I shrugged it off, continuing regardless, running my other hand down his back in repetitive squeezing motions to shut him up a little.

"I think we'll need it, since you're such a pussy." I teased him, enjoying just how bad I seemed to be at this and equally just how pissed off his little slutty ass got about it. I didn't care if I was bad - he was my boyfriend, he was obligated to get turned on by me, that's how things worked, right?

There was just the belittling matter that Pete still seemed in disbelief regarding the matter that I may actually go through with this.

"A pussy, huh?" He raised his eyebrows at me, seemingly unconvinced by my perfectly reasonable accusation. Reasonable, I say, because well Pete was a pussy, I just don't think he'd quite figured it out by now.

So in fact, I was doing him nothing more than a favour by reminding the guy. See, I'm a nice guy after all, well when I'm not being a pyromaniac or a Satanist, but those are my off days, we all have them.

"Yeah." I agreed, desperately trying to find a g-spot and shut him up entirely, because his pubescent whining was getting a little irritating by now. I didn't imagine my first time to be at all like this.

I'd imagined my first time with considerably less whining and sappy sex talk, considerably more actual sex, and somehow considerably less of the annoying prat that was Pete Wentz. But you know what, God / Yoda / Satan / Ronald McDonald had decided it so that somehow, the two of us, even in the most unlikely of circumstances would have something that would maybe work out.

I didn't have a clue if Pete and I were going to last and quite frankly the thought scared me shitless and from both angles: I was terrified of being stuck with an asshole like him for the rest of eternity, but I was also just equally as terrified of not being stuck with an asshole like him for the rest of eternity.

"I'm not a pussy. Let me take you." His words broke my little psychological moment with a harsh and brutally direct and typically Pete Wentz style demand for sex, but really, what else could it possibly be for if the words were escaping his lips, those Pete Wentz lips, and those lips that I wanted to kiss like hell.

"What?" My eyes widened, almost in shock but not at the nature of Pete's direct demand, but what it was a demand for. He was asking me - he was asking me to fuck him.

"Mikey Way. Fuck me." I blinked at him, still paralysed in some sort of disbelieving trance, because I'd won and somehow it didn't quite seem quite as worth it anymore, because now I was scared again.

But I couldn't be scared- come on, I'm Mikey fucking Way and I'm going to man up by getting myself in a man.

"Now."

"No." I grinned and he just lay there in bemusement before I winked at him and pushed in with a second finger, causing him to shudder against me. Yup, there's that g-spot. "I know what I'm doing, Wentz - it's quite clear now."

"Sure about that- fuck!" I pushed a third finger in, stretching him further, and almost grinning in his pain like the pissy little sadist I am, which is totally Pete's fault - there's no questioning that whatsoever, okay?

"Sure." He rolled his eyes at me, clearly in disbelief regarding my ability, but I'd prove him so wrong - I'd prove him so fucking wrong he wouldn't even know what'd hit him.

I grabbed onto him with my other hand; he was hard and ready, and I couldn't help but bask in my accomplishments, grinning to myself like a little prat for a good few minutes. "Very sure." I reassured him, stroking him down once more.

"Fuck me." His voice was raspy and desperate and this time, he'd finally get what he wanted, what I wanted too. No more teasing, no more foreplay, no more stupid fucking Pete Wentz bitch outs. Goodbye virginity - it was nice knowing you- well not really, but whatever. Adios.

"Okay." I let a smirk fill out onto my face, as I pulled my lubed up fingers out and thrust myself in within seconds, without warning and without pre-caution I was inside him and he was doing nothing short of screaming my name.

"Mikey- fuck!" He screamed out and I trailed kisses down his front, calming him as he squirmed under my presence. I had very little experience in the matter of anal sex, but I could guess that it felt just a little uncomfortable at first, even for manwhores like Pete. I just had to get going, and you can bet that I would.

He knotted his fingers in my hair as I thrust in again, aiming for that g-spot again. I wanted to make him scream and shake as I slammed into him, but as I heard a moan depart his lips, I decided that maybe the soft release of my name from his lips would suffice for now.

"Suck me." He demanded and I found myself looking at him with widened eyes once again; Pete Wentz's sex habits were now quite apparently becoming a questionable matter, not one that I'd put a stop to at any rate though.

"At the same time?" I said with my eyebrows raised in a mild concern for both Pete's mental health and sexual habits.

"Suck me." He simply repeated as if it was nothing.

I thrust in again, harder and faster, letting a smirk lap over my lips at his reaction and then another smirk soon followed as I came to realise just how much better I could make this all. "Tell me I'm better than you. That I'm better at sex."

"Fuck," In again, harder faster as he spoke; I was being a nice guy and trying my hardest to throw him off course entirely. "You're better at sex just get this done with!"

I raised my eyebrows at that, questioning his harsh tone just a little. "You should be nicer."

"You're a fucking sex god, okay!" He screamed out against me and I swear the whole of the car park could hear us, but I doubt that anyone really cared all that much, and even if they could hear us, the sound of Joy Division would be louder and muffling it out completely.

I took no hesitance in licking his tip, savouring the precome, grabbing him between my teeth, sucking and thrusting in sync, Pete's constant moans and tugs on my hair fuelling me on.

I swear he'd definitely drugged me to some extent within the past twenty four hours, because believe it or not, this was really not normal behaviour for me.

"I'm going to-" Was all he could choke out before I was left with a salty mess in my mouth that I could do nothing but swallow, but within seconds, I was gone too and were left to lie and catch our breath in a shared sticky, sweet, epiphany.

"Fuck." I collapsed, pulling myself out of him, tying up the condom and chucking it under something for Pete to clean up later. Not my car, not my problem.

Pete pulled me down next to him and we just lay naked, looking up at the stupid glow in the dark stars Pete had stuck to the roof of his car. I swear the dude was like five - I'm really glad he's not though because I just fucked him.

"They came when I bought it." He reassured me, his words laden with bullshit of course.

"Right." I raised my eyebrows at him.

"You don't believe me." No shit Sherlock.

"Not a chance." He just giggled, entwining our fingers and watching the glow in the dark stars with me.

"I'm going to fail that exam so bad; I'll fail fucking spectacularly." I grumbled, trying and failing to push all mentions of college out of my head.

"At least without college we'll lots more time to have lots of sex." Yeah, I guess everything did have a plus side, you know.

"True." He grinned, leaning over to kiss me. It was a short kiss; lips on lips and then it was over, but I was far too tired out to even consider anything more than that right now.

"I'm glad you've finally accepted that my sex is simply fantastic." He continued to gloat as usual, being Pete Wentz.

"I think it was I that was the sex god, remember?"

"Whatever." He shrugged it off like it was nothing when it was quite awfully clearly something.

"You know it." I smirked at him.

"Shut up or I won't give you any whiskey." He smirked at me.

"You should be driving me home, you know." I looked at him through narrowed eyes. "It is the polite thing to do, I believe."

"We've both had far too much to drink for that, Mikes." He reminded me - at least intoxicated Pete had at least the mildest regard for the law and other painfully dull yet painfully important legal matters.

"You've had this all planned out haven't you?" He shook his head. "Right from the start?"

"Most definitely not." He smirked at me, breaking into a fit of laughter as the whiskey trickled through his lips. He put the bottle down and turned to me, his grin only widening, leaving me to imagine as to what the hell he could possibly say next.

"You know I put viagra in your herbal tea this morning." Well, shit.

"Fuck you."

"Yes, yes you did."

-

"Morning." Gerard dragged himself into the kitchen, his eyes barely open and he looked as if he'd barely gotten a wink of sleep last night, which I very much believed had something to do with a certain Frank Iero.

"You look tired." I noted the obvious as I busied myself with making a cup of coffee.

"I am." He groaned, pretty much banging his head against the table. "Make me some coffee?"

"No." I was so genuinely lovely to my brother. I smirked as his collapsed figure as I sat down beside him, sipping my coffee as if it was nothing and trying to do my best to ignore him looking at it desperately through longing eyes.

"Gimme-" He mumbled as pulled his head up.

"No." I grinned, letting a smirk ride over my lips. "Not a chance in hell, Gee. Not a chance in hell. You should just make your own, maybe if you got up from your lazy ass for once-" Then I noticed him staring, my eyes drifted down and oh shit.

"Is that a hickey- that's a hickey?" He just blinked at in disbelief, "that's a fucking hickey." I nodded, gazing down into my coffee, the both of us knowing far too well as to what exactly had gone on in order from my attainment of the aforementioned hickey.

"You got laid." His eyes widened and a smirk drifted over my lips, because only now did it occur to him that I got laid. Laid. I got motherfucking laid. "Pete screwed you- oh my god." And now that only made my smirk increase.

"Nope-"

"What do you mean 'nope'?" He just looked at me and I just grinned like a madman, because I knew something that he didn't and really I wasn't quite sure if this was even a thing he wanted to know, or even I wanted him to know. "Mikey, you manwhore, oh my god!"

I just goddamn giggled at that. "Why do you assume I bottomed, Gee?" I winked, getting up and putting my mug in the sink after what could possibly be the most awkward conversation with my brother, and of course, all courtesy of Pete Wentz deity of awkward conversations.

"So that's a good luck charm for your exam today?" He asked, raising his eyebrows and I let my post-sex euphoria sink away as it was drowned out the utter dread when it came to that goddamn exam.

"Pete more of put it as something to be happy about when I fail." I shrugged it off, knowing I was bound to fail regardless.

"So you don't have a good luck charm?" He raised his eyebrows at me, and I had to just mimic his gesture as I had never really put Gerard down as one for superstition.

"Yeah..." I grinned, wondering just how Gerard could possibly respond to my next statement. It was a weird one to say the very least, "about that, I do actually have a little idea- well, it's kind of Pete's, kind of not. Pete suggested Yoda, but I'm not that much of a Star Wars fan."

"What?" He just looked at me with a dropped jaw, "Yoda?"

"Nah, I can do better - bring me a sharpie and a virgin."

 

-

 

"I'm officially a Satanist now." I announced in quite possibly the most casual manner I could muster as I waltzed into the living room, catching the attention of both Gerard and my mother, who took the opportunity to glance up at me in a perplexed manner.

"What?" My mum's voice perked up, her eyebrows raised, as I assumed she would be considering the confusion that would no doubt ensue the words that just left my slightly ajar lips.

"I passed - I passed the exam." Gerard choked on his coffee, the steaming cup tilting slightly as his attention left his hand to cater to his caffeine flooded windpipe. Fortunately, the majority of the coffee remained inside the mug and mum was far too focused upon the grin that began to overtake my face like a vicious grasp of ivy to notice the splash coffee that was now sinking into the sofa.

"That's great, Mikey!" She grinned at me, glad that she actually had some reason to be proud of at least one of her sons for. Right now, I could become a heroin dealer who prostitutes on the side, but to her I'd still be her son who's a heroin dealer who prostitutes on the side with an English degree.

Gerard however was disinterested in her praise towards me, which was probably something to do with the fact that he's a jealous little shit. He looked at the coffee stain momentarily, pulling his face out into an elongated, regretful grin that literally screamed out 'oh shit', after a few seconds he shrugged it off entirely and decided it adequate to simply cover the stain, which was darkening in colour by the moment, with a cushion and simply hope no one noticed.

"You're fucking kidding me?" He exclaimed as he turned back to me, his eyes obnoxiously avoiding the sofa as he tried his best to remove the stain from existence simply with the power of his mind; it wasn't working.

"Gerard!" Mum rolled her eyes, but Gerard was paying the least of attention; he hadn't seen Frank for two days so he was restless as shit, which was kind of explainable, but that didn't affect the fact that it was still fucking downright irritating.

"I'm proud of you, Mikey. I told you that you could pass if you tried hard enough, huh?" She winked at me and it was my turn to roll my eyes. Everyone in this fucking family was stupidly competitive, but at least she was nowhere near quite as unbearable as Gerard. No one was quite as annoying as Gerard; Ryan Ross was close, but still far, far off when he was faced with Gerard.

It seems Frank has a thing for assholes with far too much eyeliner, a bad dress sense, a caffeine addiction, and a generally unbearable personality. The little guy does confuse me, that's for sure.

"He's lying, come on!" Gerard raised his eyebrows at me, his constant and weirdly sustainable disbelief in both my general and academic ability was disheartening to say the least, but then again Gerard was a jealous bastard that barely left the basement for anyone other than his boyfriend, so I guess this just comes naturally to him.

"No, dude. I passed - legitimately, as well. I didn't even cheat- well once, my eyes may have wandered but it was entirely coincidental that they had answered the exact question I was stuck on at that moment in time, but other than that, yeah - I passed." I couldn't quite believe it myself and really the words were only just sinking in as I said them.

"Pete will be disappointed." Gerard noted, the corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously into what I wouldn't be surprised to see would be a grin, but what he would be grinning about, I hadn't a clue, which when it came to Gerard was most definitely a bad thing.

"Less time for sex." No, Gerard go ahead and say that like it's nothing and our fucking mother isn't just in the room, in this conversation, sat barely a metre away from that mouth of yours, which those goddamn fucking cocky shithead words are departing from.

My mum just got up and left at that point, but to be honest I couldn't blame her - the fact that she'd put up with Gerard for a full quarter of a century was already not just commendable but fricking medal worthy. I suppose when he was little he couldn't actually talk that much so that might have been slightly bearable, but then again I have heard that Gerard was pretty much the Satan of toddlers.

"Gerard!" I exclaimed, blushing furiously as soon as she'd left the room, still in utter disbelief that he'd fucking said that in front of our mother. "You did not-" He just ignored my flushed cheeks and my disbelieving protests, letting me mumble on to myself.

"How are you going to break it to him?" He cut into my speech soon enough which was probably best for my sanity in the long run no matter quite how pissed off I was at the guy right now. To be honest, being pissed off at Gerard wasn't a feeling, mood, or emotion, it was a fucking lifestyle, and somehow, it had unfortunately ended up being mine.

"Fuck off-" Of course he was in the habit of brushing off and ignoring practically everything that I said to him, meaning that even the most cruel of insults that I hurled in his direction meant absolutely nothing. This had both its good and bad points, so I guess I was indifferent to it, but it kind of just depended upon my mood, but of course as soon as Frank said anything vaguely offensive to him he'd get all pissy.

"How did you even pass anyway?" He disregarded my insults in favour of yet more excessive questioning regarding my fluke of a pass in my exam.

"To be honest, I'm not sure myself." I really wasn't; I was wondering if somehow I'd been marked wrong or they got someone else's paper confused with mine, because the fact that I had actually achieved something, probably kind of legitimately as well, was just astounding.

In fact, it was even more astounding when you considered the fact that I hadn't even finished the book, and believe me, I wasn't fucking planning to - that was for certain. To be honest, even if I wanted to, I'm sure Gerard would end up burning the damn thing before I could even get my hands on it. And my professor had the nerve to call me the pyromaniac.

"It was probably the pentagrams, dude- speaking of the pentagrams, did any one official happen to notice them or could our dark lord pass on his powers of classic literary knowledge through a 70% cotton black hoodie?"

Ah yes, the damn pentagrams, that had somehow transformed from some messed up part of Pete's head riddled with insanity into the thing that helped me pass my English exam, or at least that's what Gerard reckoned. I wasn't quite so sure, pinning the thing down on a mix up or just sheer dumb fucking luck.

"Nah, I was fine - no one noticed, or at least I hope so, because getting kicked out right after passing would be just fucking ridiculous." I just hoped things wouldn't turn out like that, because not only would it be fucking ridiculous, it'd be damn well taking the piss. And then maybe I'd get a little in touch with my pyromaniac side.

It's funny how apparently I'm the pyromaniac when my brother plans up burning his boyfriend's ex alive on a bonfire and my boyfriend's flat looks like a modern day, scented re-enactment of the Great Fire of London. Ryan probably has a Satan worshipping fire shrine in his garage or something as well, so I don't exactly see why I'm the pyromaniac.

"Exactly your style though, Mikes. Just typical of you to get kicked out like that, and you know, it would be fucking hilarious. Seriously." I shrugged at that, not entirely sure that I agreed with him, seeing as I didn't find my hard- well actually piss poor efforts being put to waste just because my brother thinks it's funny to see me get kicked out of college.

It's not that I actually like college, or look forward to doing another year of this shit for that matter, but whatever, it sure beats living in a cardboard box outside Walmart and becoming a prostitute. Actually, the latter would probably be Pete's job, come to think of it. Yes, he would live in the cardboard box with me, of course.

If I'm going down, I'm dragging him down with me, seeing as I'm such a kind and considerate person, you know.

"What's that supposed to mean? It's my style, you what?" I raised my eyebrows at my brother, clearly unimpressed by his unappreciation towards my every accomplishment. It's not like I achieve much, so it's barely as if I'm asking much of him, but of course he is just a pissy little twat and refuses to do anything over the bare minimum and of course being nice goes over the bare minimum in that head of his.

"You didn't deserve to pass, man." Gerard shrugged it off like he hadn't just been directly offensive to me, and watched as mum cautiously slipped back in. I didn't particularly mind, seeing as it was clearly Gerard was kind of jealous as he really had very little hope of accomplishing anything other than an awful lot of nothing in his life.

Well he was good at fucking Frank, but that's not exactly something he can put on his CV, or at least I hope he isn't planning on doing so.

"Has your brother stopped discussing your sex life yet?" Mum sat back down on the sofa, suspiciously close to the coffee stain and just close enough for Gerard to be anything but amusingly uncomfortable. She directed the question at me, trying to push Gerard into the furthest corner of her vision as he pulled ridiculous faces only to catch her attention, which she was doing a pretty good job of, seeing as she isn't Frank and therefore she has the ability to ignore Pete.

"Yes he has." I gave Gerard a stern glare and he abruptly stopped looking like the biggest prat to ever grace mankind, well momentarily of course. To be honest, I think he was just focusing on scooting as far away from the coffee stain as possible whilst remaining discreet enough for mum to not focus an unusual amount of her attention upon him.

"Really well done, Mikey." She smiled at me, her gaze avoiding Gerard's obnoxious shuffling and fidgeting with the sofa, yet she was gradually edging closer to the coffee stain. She was moving fucking slowly, but the fact that she was moving was enough to unnerve Gerard entirely.

He noticed my raised eyebrows as I watched his nervous state, however he didn't seem all that bother and he simply pulled a childish face. "Ignore him - you've accomplished more than he ever will."

The two of us just looked at each other, and Gerard panicked coming to the conclusion that if she'd noticed his facial expressions, then she'd probably noticed his shuffling and possibly the coffee stain itself too.

"What by bullshitting an English course?" Gerard snorted, trying to pass off his flushed cheeks with bold words like the little prat he was. "Finished that book yet, Mikes?" Yeah, to be truthful, I never even reached the half-way point but that hardly matters now, does it? Well morally, it kind of does, but here in the Way household we're not exactly ones for morals are we?

Mum just sighed, as she'd given up and entirely admitted defeat in correcting Gerard's language by now. Gerard was going to be a vulgar little shithead and that was just a fact of life - it wasn't a particularly pleasant one, but neither was the fact that one day we'll all die, in fact that's probably worse thinking about it.

"We watched the film, didn't we?" I smirked at my brother, reminding him as to how I'd made him sit through it with me as well. The film was tedious to watch and really not my thing whatsoever, seeing as both Gerard and I are really into horror movies, you can tell that Pride and Prejudice was right up our streets.

I couldn't decide as to whether the romanticism or the historical setting was the more horrifying. Gerard would say the romanticism, because he's a bitter bastard like that, but he would say that he's never seen a horror film quite so terrifying.

"Unfortunately so." He practically shuddered at the mere mention of the film and quite honestly I didn't blame him- shit, I think he still has Lindsey's DVD. Well, there's another thing to burn; this bonfire is getting both more exciting and mentally concerning at the same time, but whatever, they're practically the same thing to be honest.

"So, I was wondering if you wanted to celebrate in any way, Mikey." She grinned at me, clearly unaware that I still had the not quite faded remnants of pentagrams spanning across both my forearms. I was just glad that Gerard hadn't thought to inform her yet.

She grabbed the copy of Pride and Prejudice off the coffee table, running her index finger down the spine and then once over the cover. "I can see why you haven't read this - it's just a cliché romance in an overrated, discriminatory, and stupidly romanticised century. I do hate the nineteen hundreds; people overrate historical settings. Yeah, I'm sure they had pretty dresses, but you could be hung for stealing an apple."

I nodded in agreement, glad that someone even if it was only my own mother had managed to understand my struggle regarding just how fucking painful it was to read that piece of well, literary shit. That was kind of offensive, but you may have been able to tell by now that classic literature and I, well we don't really get along.

"Is there a sex scene?" Gerard's voice piped up as he trailed back into the kitchen, presumably to make another coffee, or quite possibly distract attention from the already spilled one, which was sinking deeper into the sofa as we spoke.

"Gerard-" Mum butted in, letting out an aspirated sigh, clearly giving up on her eldest son pretty much entirely by now. I couldn't blame her.

"I was just wondering whether I should recommend it to Pete or not. Oh, speaking of Pete - Mikey got laid last night." My eyes widened as I couldn't quite believe he'd actually said that in front of our fucking mother, but it was Gerard and the words tumbled out like pieces of dust within the air; annoying and somehow always there.

Except Gerard seemed to thrive in darkness, unlike the dust, which had a habit of lingering in the light- well, maybe Gerard's light was just Frank. That kind of made sense, in a confusing and generally nonsensical, yet somehow metaphorical way, I guess.

"Gerard! Shut up!" My cheeks turned an embarrassing shade of crimson and I wondered if my face could melt off into my palms if I covered it with my hands long enough. Unfortunately, I spent at least thirty seconds hidden in shame with no results, the all too familiar grasps of reality still cuffed far too tightly around me.

"I thought we'd finished this area of discussion." Mum butted in, her words stern and her gaze nothing short of disapproving.

"Yeah." I sided with my mum like the sad little weirdo I couldn't help but be. I think sad little weirdo was kind of my style though, and clearly giving myself compliments was not, oh well. It wasn't like anyone but Gerard could hear me, and if Gerard was in the position to be calling anyone a 'weirdo', he'd also be in the position to win the world prize for hypocrisy.

"Anyway, as I was saying regarding celebration-" She was trying to slide us back into a normal and civil conversation, but with Gerard and caffeine in the room, it clearly wasn't a working combination. Well, it wasn't exactly as if Gerard was the civil kind of guy regardless of situation or caffeine levels. Then again, it wasn't even as if there was a time when Gerard's veins flowed with a higher concentration of caffeine than blood.

"Yeah, we should have a massive bonfire and we can burn that book and a church and Ryan Ross." Gerard of course decided to bring up Ryan Ross. I wasn't entirely sure as to how he was planning upon getting a whole church on top of the bonfire, or maybe we could work around that and build the bonfire on top of the church.

"Who's Ryan Ross?" And here comes the dreaded question. Cue rant number one. The worst part was that it wouldn't be something I could stop, because give Gerard a few spiteful words and I'd simply be more than tempted to do nothing short of join in, with nothing held back.

I enjoyed hating Ryan Ross as much as Gerard did and he hasn't even touched my boyfriend... or at least I hope he hasn't, but considering the fact that Pete is Pete, I'm not quite so sure anymore.

"Frank's ex-boyfriend." I piped up, trying to get this off to the most civil of starts, but when the topic was Ryan Ross; could the conversation be anything but a verbal re-enactment of a World War? I passed a smirk in my mother's direction, feeling rather proud of myself and doing my best to ignore the death glare Gerard was shooting me from across the room.

"Thought so." She mused, causing Gerard's eyebrows to rise like a reflex. I could see exactly where she was coming from, because Gerard disliked, possibly even hated a lot of people, but he couldn't hate anyone as much as really hated Frank's ex-boyfriend. And the fact that Ryan really was just a massive douchebag did nothing but add to that bubbling cauldron of hatred.

"Fuck off-" Gerard groaned, hating just how obviously jealous he got regarding Frank. He was just so in love with guy that I could barely blame him. Barely. Because he's Gerard, my brother, and by default that means it's totally my job to blame him.

"Language." She was back at full strength again, recovered from Gerard's previously incidents, which had done nothing short of leading Gerard to drive her into the brink of insanity. "Unfortunately, Gerard, we can't actually burn people unless you want to sort out the legal trouble yourself, because believe me when I say that I'm not doing it. I'm not a fan of paperwork."

She wasn't kidding; we were always late with the bills, no matter how early or late she set them aside to do, the boxes just never quite got filled in. We were just a family of dysfunctional procrastinators with a worrying passion for pyromania, who live off pot noodle and high caffeine intake.

"Ryan's a real fuc- goddamn douche though." I had to raise my eyebrows at Gerard's avoidance of a curse word, because never before had anything anyone had said had any kind of effect on him. Well whatever Frank says is clearly an exception, because it's Frank and well, Frank's just Frank. He matters to Gerard, and he matters an awful lot.

"Frank's not with him anymore, calm down." She attempted to mediate, but the fact that they were no longer together was really besides the point. I'd seen this coming, and I'd tried and failed to prevent it, but whatever, here I was, butting in, with my own shit faced opinion.

"No, seriously mum. I could shoot him too." She raised her eyebrows at that, as I was usually the calm one. This was probably and most definitely Pete's fault, and for once it actually kind of was, instead of me simply passing it off with the reason that something just had to be his fault, because it kind of did, but whatever.

"He's in my English course - he's certainly passed and I think he'll actually just be surprised over anything else to hear that I did too. I'd like to see the look on his face though, you know, see the walls of that massive ego tumbling down. Also he hates, like wants to carve my guts out with his fingernails, hates me, just for being related to Gee."

I was really just hoping that I could be joking regarding the fingernail gut carving thing, but he was Ryan Ross and I was in an unfortunate situation where I really couldn't be sure.

Fuck, he knows where I live too; he could crawl in through my wind at fucking two am and begin his quest of fingernail dissection. Pete would probably call me at about that time though, so I'd like to think I'd at least be awake to watch, if not try and stop him. He'd probably get me with his scarves first though, leaving me with very little chance of escape.

"Well-" She let out a sigh, considering the words we'd just said as she ran them through her head. She gave a look, a kind of motherly look that said that she didn't quite want to hate him, seeing as it was kind of the responsible and example appropriate thing to do, but he sounded like a fucking douchebag so she really fucking wanted to.

"He's into bondage as well and he wears all these scarves-" Yeah, this could be classified as the kind of information that mum really didn't need to know. It was fine to inform her of how he was a massive class A douchebag, but his sex habits, yeah those just weren't for her ears. She'd made this quite clear mere minutes ago, but of course, Gerard being Gerard, he could do nothing but blatantly ignore her.

"Gerard-" I tried to stop him right there, because he would always have something more to say and I had this nagging feeling that whatever could spew from his lips next would be undoubtedly worse than our previous heap of inappropriate and embarrassing garbage.

"The scarves fucking creep me out he looks like some octopus or something and it's just fucking weird man like and the eyeliner - he's fucking plagiarising me-" I wasn't quite sure I agreed with him. Gerard and Ryan did have some similarities, that were true, but Ryan had a terribly significant larger amount of hygiene and he looked like the guy who took daily showers as opposed to Gerard's weekly-if-we're-lucky ones.

"Gerard!" Mum raised her voice to finally interrupt my brother's rant, stopping the whole thing before it could accentuate further was definitely the right tactic, even since it was Gerard, it was most definitely the most difficult to impose.

"Can you please stop talking the sex habits of anyone, and I'd appreciate it if you toned down your excessive use of the 'f word'. You sound disturbed, Gee." It was unusual that mothers were drawn to the brink of insanity where they required calling their children 'disturbed', but in Gerard's case, it was a practical necessity.

"Don't tell me I'm disturbed when he's dating Pete fucking Wentz." Okay, I could see his point - Pete was kind of messed up, but Gerard was not a mentally okay guy. It is psychologically recommended that people don't spend all of their developing years in their mother's basement, but Gerard doesn't seem to get along very well with psychological recommendations, that's for sure.

"Dude, you're disturbed." Again, I found myself siding with my own mother because I was just so cool like that. Cool was my middle name, well at least on Facebook, when I was like eleven. That wasn't a highlight of my life. Mikey Cool Way.

"Will you two-"

"At least my boyfriend isn't basically a fucking prostitute." Gerard interrupted my mother's words without a second thought, her jaw dropping with Gerard's insults racking up in lethality. It didn't affect me all that much, as by now I had come to terms with Pete's man whoreish tendencies.

Well, how could I not have, it was kind of a requirement for dating the guy; a situation I had really not expected yet somehow found myself stuck right in the middle of.

"At least mine isn't into bondage." I could send boyfriend insults right back, and ones relating to Ryan Ross seemed to be both my speciality and the most lethal ones too. Gerard sent me a scowl in return, his top lip twitching a little in disgust, before he quite managed to compose himself in preparation for round two of our boyfriend bashing contest.

"How's that a bad thing? I can get scarves too-" Yeah, I really wasn't quite so keen upon that idea, because not only would I look at him and see Ryan Ross, which would lead to that face of his getting pretty bruised, but I'd have to think about what he'd be doing with those scarves every time I looked at them.

If he was going to participate in bondage- not that I was condoning my brother's participation in kinky sex activities, or my knowledge of his participation for that matter, I was just sure that scarves weren't the preferred method of tying someone down.

Didn't people tend to use handcuffs and shit? Not that I'd know, or have any kind of extensive experience in the matter, seeing as I was a virgin a few days ago. Pete Wentz fixed that for me, I guess. If fixed is the right word.

"How about you stop talking about sex and go get laid for real?" I snapped, grabbing the house phone off the hook and throwing it at Gerard, thankfully it didn't break in the process, because I doubted that mum would be all too keen about that.

And she probably wouldn't even be bothered to buy another landline for at least another six months, leaving us relying upon shitty mobile contracts than had a habit of running out far too often, especially now Pete insisted upon using all of my talk time within like the first day of the month. Yeah, if I wanted to call emergency services, I was fucking screwed thanks to Pete Wentz.

"Go call your fucking boyfriend." I winked at him, watching as he lingered near the doorway, not quite leaving the room yet, but damn he was fucking close so at least we were making some kind of progress here, because even if it was marginal progress, it was still damn progress, okay.

"Mikes-" Mum almost seemed surprised about the apparent flaw in my innocence, but had she really not noticed that I was in fact twenty years old now? That was two decades- fuck, that was two decades.

Shitting Christ, I had been alive for two decades! Midlife crisis ensuing- well, I kind of didn't want it to be my mid-life crisis, seeing as if it were so I'd be dead by forty, and I wasn't really quite so keen upon that idea, you know.

"See, he's not such a perfect angel child, is he?" Gerard smirked and mum rolled her eyes, giving up on both of her sons simultaneously, but what else could she do? We were pathetic little basement dwelling shits. 

"Just go call your boyfriend, demon child." I had to let out a chuckle at that one, noting just the level of insanity as to which Gerard had pushed her to. 'Demon child' was not a typical name to refer to your child by, but whatever why were the Ways, typical wasn't even on our street.

Well actually, it kind of was, if you counted the family with the stay at home mum and dad with a job in business and two kids, but that's beside the point and they hate us anyway.

"I swear it's illegal to refer to your son as a demon child." He protested, not that he'd actually be bothered to take any form of legal action whatsoever. And he was just a little too old for childline, by what... like ten years?

"Mean? Yes. Illegal? No." She winked at him, the corners of her mouth twisting up into nothing short of a smirk.

"Mum-"

"Just go call Frank - it'll do us all a favour." Gerard huffed before stumbling out the room as he began to dial a number which I assumed to be Frank's, or possibly Childline, he could be trying the Childline method, even if he was twenty five, but he was a pathetic manchild of a twenty five year old who insisted upon never quite growing up enough to be considered mature enough to leave his mother's basement.

She grinned before turning to me, clearly quite pleased with the fact that we were now in a Gerard free environment and considering the fact that she was his mother, she was probably just a little bit too pleased, but he'd never know so it barely mattered.

"So how are you and Pete?" She hit me with an awkward question out of nowhere. This was the kind of question I couldn't answer and thankfully Gerard wasn't here to answer for me before I managed to piece together a barely adequate answer, well at least before I attempted to. My success in the aforementioned matter was definitely questionable.

"Good." I mumbled, my eyes trailing down to the floor as I wasn't quite that keen upon discussing my sex life with my mother, unlike Gerard, of course. Gerard just didn't seem to give a shit whatsoever. I hadn't provided the most eloquent of answers, but she should be glad that I answered at all, because if the questioning continued, I'd be awfully tempted to storm out of the room entirely.

"Are you going to elaborate any further?" She smirked at me, almost as if she was asking me to storm out entirely, but I wasn't quite as pissy as Gerard, so I reckoned I could last another minute or two of questioning at the very least.

"You should be kind of glad that I'm not elaborating." I mumbled and she let out a chuckle as my cheeks flushed a horrible colour that I'd rather not think about. But really, I wasn't at all keen upon sharing details of my intimate night with Pete with my own fucking mother.

"He seems like a nice guy." Thank god- or Satan, or Yoda, that she'd had the decency to realise a subject change was necessary.

"Mmm... I love him." I found myself confessing out of nowhere and groaning to myself moments later, because I'd found out the hard way that in the Way family, confessions were really not good things. I did love him though, it just was kind of weird to admit to my mother, yet whatever corner of my insanity ridden subconscious that was in control today had decided it appropriate.

"Properly?" She asked, her eyebrows raised. She wasn't in anyway judgemental or disbelieving in my words, she just kind of cared about me. She didn't want to see me hurt I guessed, but I'd already been hurt by Pete a great deal, so I guessed that at the very least I was prepared. Nothing could hurt me more than Pete had hurt me concerning Patrick, or at least I hoped so.

Speaking of Patrick, I hadn't seen or heard from the guy since our incident, which despite his friendliness, I decided was probably for the best to some degree at the very least. Patrick was a nice dude though, so maybe now we were all okay, or at least so I hoped, that maybe we could go for a coffee and a chat sometime. Well if Pete ever stopped hogging my attention for one moment of the day.

"Yeah, yeah I think so." My voice came out in barely a whisper, my words nothing more than syllabised gasps of breath against cold anxiety ridden air. It was the truth; the truth didn't tend to come out in bold shouts, because somehow we'd decided that the truth was something to be feared. Humans did work oddly.

"That's a pretty big thing, Mikes." She told me as if I hadn't already figured that out already. The concept scared me a little and the fact that I knew it was a pretty big thing was the biggest reason as to why.

"I know - he's just... different, important, I don't know - he's just Pete." She chuckled at that, I wasn't really the most eloquent of English students for certain. I wasn't the best of English students either and quite frankly I was still awfully confused as to why even I still was an English student at all.

"You sound like Gerard." I had to raise my eyebrows at that, because I didn't think I did, well not entirely. I wasn't ranting about everyone Pete's ever slept with for a start, well it was a good thing I wasn't, because if I was I'd be here for several years at the very least.

"I can hear you!" Came a shout from the next room. Of course Gerard would have been listening in on our conversation to some degree, because he's Gerard and although he's lazy he's still a lazy little shit.

"So can I!" Mum shouted back and I didn't even have to see to know that Gerard's middle finger was waving up in the air far too proudly. Mum had probably assumed so too, and for Gerard's sake, I was just glad that she had no physically evidence of Gerard's middle finger waggling.

"You should call Pete - tell him how you passed and maybe the both of you could go get laid elsewhere tonight so I could have some peace for once." My eyes practically bulged right out of their sockets at that moment, because damn was she turning into Gerard or what- holy shit?

"You'd get creeped out by the silence, mum." I reminded her, remembering how when I was fourteen she'd bought an army of fans in the middle of December because she found it weird to not have the sound of Metallica blaring in her ears at two am now that Gerard had discovered headphones. I, on the other hand, was rather thankful for his discovery, and was enjoying the extra sleep I was getting.

She shrugged, because I was right and everyone in this family was far too stubborn to ever admit when they were wrong, "But, I'd get creeped out by the sound of both my sons having sex with their boyfriends more."

"Fair point." I tried not to wince whenever she mentioned Pete and I, because it was just an uncomfortable subject to hear from your mother's lips. But I did look like a massive wussy virgin if I winced whenever someone mentioned sex. I was just a wuss who'd had sex once, and that makes me infinitely better of course, or at least my ego likes to think so.

"I'll go check if Gerard's set fire to anything or simply retreated back down into that basement of his while you call Pete." Damn she really had a knack for knowing exactly when to change the conversation, and it was a knack I was nothing but damn well thankful for.

"You just don't want to hear our conversation, do you?" I eyed her with suspicion, my eyebrows raised, knowing the truth far too well.

"It's for the best." She assured me, and I began to wonder as to what the hell she could possibly think we would be discussing, but with what Gerard's been talking her, I think I'd rather not pursue the subject.

"Yeah, you really do have a point actually." I went along with it, simply waiting until she'd left to break out in a horrific blush.

"Mother knows best!" She smirked in quite possibly the most ridiculous of manners, but sometimes ridiculous was exactly what she did best, before closing the door behind her as she went off in search of Gerard and whatever Frank related havoc he could be causing right now.

-

"Mikesssssss!" Came the all too familiar screech down the phone line, causing me to wince and my thoughts to momentarily hover over the thought of regretting calling him altogether, but I doubted Pete would be awfully happy with that.

"Hey Pete." I replied in a significantly more enthusiastic tone than my usual drivel, yet it was still painfully unenthusiastic next to Pete's vulture screech / war cry of oddly shown affection.

"You sound awfully enthusiastic for an ex-college student." I couldn't help but smirk to myself, because this was the fun part; this when I got to prove Pete Wentz wrong and laugh at his certainty in my failure, and also there would be the the matter of ignoring him completely whenever he even tried to suggest that my unplanned for success was somehow all up to him.

His insanity stricken brain did think up the whole Satan thing but I really did doubt that somehow I could actually blame my sudden goldmine of unbelievable luck upon something as goddamn stupid as that shit. Pete was still going to persist upon it though, because he was Pete, of course.

"Yeah, Pete, this is what I kind of called you about- well, I did want to talk to you too, but whatever- I passed." The words came out in a clustered mess at first, the words a conjoined conundrum of mismatched syllables and mispronounced vowel sounds with a few spoken silent letters thrown in there for good luck.

But after a moment, I somehow managed to get my head straight, or maybe I just stopped to take a breath long enough to the truth to tumble out entirely. 

As expected, the line went silent for a few long minutes and I amused myself in the silence with imagining Pete messing about in a frantic frenzy as he worried about how we could spend every waking moment fucking - not that we would be anyway, regardless of whether I passed or not. Pete wouldn't accept that though.

"It's not April the first, dude." He finally said into the silence, his tone made obnoxiously nervous by the awkward voice crack hidden amongst his words.

"I know, because Pete, I'm not even kidding." I began laughing down the line, because this was fucking ridiculous, man. This whole situation was goddamn hilarious to witness, even down the phone line, because Pete was probably going into some midlife crisis as he put utter distrust in the state of reality as he knew it.

"How on earth-" His words came out as if my words had come from a part of reality that hadn't quite fabricated yet, leaving him to do nothing but tug at nothingness in a semi hopeless, drifting state. It was kind of amusing, but also very cute; Pete was always so sure of himself and it was just different to see him like this, to see him uncertain.

And truth be told, I kind of liked it - in the context anyways, in any other, I guess I would find myself to not quite be so affectionate towards the idea of Pete being lost. But now he was only a little lost and I was here to guide him home regardless; everything is fine in moderation.

"I totally did the Satanism thing you know." The smirk was running wild now, taking total control of my face, bringing my lips up into a creepily enthusiastic smile.

"You're fucking kidding me?" Pete hated being surprised, which was probably why I was enjoying this all quite so much, because Pete had really aided in making me one sadistic asshole for sure.

"No." I grinned at myself, looking like an absolute idiot with no one except Pete down the phone line. "Satan helped me with his extensive knowledge of Jane Austen novels." I wasn't entirely sure upon the truthfulness of this one, but I went with it regardless, because I liked this theory better than sheer fucking dumb luck.

Because dumb luck couldn't be put down to any of my skill whatsoever, and I think I wanted this ego boost to be honest. I was being a little shit, but I had a relevant excuse and that was that Pete was simply a bigger one.

"Have you just accidentally proven the existence of religious beings, and the worst one of them all in particular?" Now that was something to ponder upon, because if this was really all down to Satan then that means that fucking Satan is real. Satan.

No, not god with his heaven and angels and beards and happy clouds yay, but Satan with his freaking demon torture virgin sex dungeons and killing and murder and horns and devils and sacrifice and blood.

Goddamn it, Satan. You asshole.

"Shush, Satan will hear you. He doesn't like it when you're mean to him." Now, I was pretty sure I'd just been possessed by a demon of some sort at the very least, because the words that left my lips didn't feel like my own. Well either the demon thing or I could get the fumes of Pete's scented candles and herbal teas down the phone line.

"He's Satan not a fucking five year old girl." Pete snapped at me as if he was suddenly claiming to be the sane one, despite the fact that he was the one who came up with this whole Satan theory in the first place- what if Pete himself was Satan?

No- now the insanity was really setting in. My boyfriend maybe be fucking creepy and a little sex obsessed, but he was not Satan or at least I hoped he wasn't, because if he was then oh shit.

I took the chance in guessing that he wasn't because I reckoned that Satan could probably spell 'rentals' and there was also the fact that Pete had zero knowledge whatsoever regarding literature of any sort.

"Satan can be whoever he wants to." Just hopefully not you, because that would be fucking weird.

I didn't say the last part aloud as you may have been able to guess, because I'd sound a little creepy and that would be to Pete Wentz of all people. If Pete Wentz thinks you're creepy then Jesus Christ get the fuck away from me. I'm not sure how I can get away from myself though, that is certainly a puzzling one.

"Yeah, I would have preferred you to be a hobo that isn't a Satanist, you know." Damn, Pete crushing my theories and insanity ridden mildly Satanic head that definitely needs some form of therapy.

"I'm not a Satanist, I'm just grateful that I managed to pass. It's gratitude." Well, at least I hoped it was some odd form of gratitude and not just badly hidden slowly forming Satanism, because that certainly could have some not bargained for and marginally disastrous consequences.

"Whatever, dude." He shrugged it off, because being Pete Wentz had an ability to do with just about everything.

"So you don't want to celebrate with me?" I raised one eyebrow despite the fact that I knew he couldn't see me; the gestures were essential okay, even if he'd never appreciate their existence.

"Fuck- let me grab the Breaking Bad." Yeah, let's not actually. Pete and I apparently had rather different and practically polar opposite in form, ideas of celebration.

He'd obviously go with sex because he's Pete and that's just the kind of marginally messed up guy he is, whereas I'd probably go with comic books and horror movies. We could try my idea, but Pete would probably fuck it all up with some sneaky hand maneuveres under a blanket.

"Pete-" I tried to protest, but he wouldn't be having any of it, cutting me off almost instantly like the nice little prick he was.

"Oh don't you be a spoil sport now." He had this goddamn habit of taunting me into doing just about everything and anything and just because he was a nice guy, he took every opportunity to abuse his taunting powers and talents.

I sighed, giving in to Pete far too easily for my liking, whereas in fact, he probably loved it within its entirety. "Whatever - one episode. But only if you can get me drunk enough." I decided that was a good enough, ultimatum, foolishly forgetting that you got high just by walking into Pete's house due to all the scented candles and shit.

"Challenged accepted." I could sense the signature Pete Wentz smirk through the phone lines, because I'd got far too good at detecting those by now and not by choice either, by fucking prolonged exposure to Pete and his Mount Everest sized ego.

"And Pete, nothing involving those dodgy herbal teas or those fucking dangerous 'scented' candles. I don't want a fire hazard." Or to be high. I didn't say the last part, because it'd piss him off a little and Pete got kind of oddly sexual when he was pissed off and really I just wanted a movie and to go to sleep, but he wasn't going to let me get away with that at all.

"Don't worry - the only thing on fire will be our sex, baby." Yeah, I was kind of planning on no sex - an abstinence only night, perhaps? I didn't think Pete even believed in abstinence, let alone morally disagree with it. Pete was just some kind of sex crazed animal that learnt to speak English- well, bad English, and it was apparent that basic spelling and grammar were not things in Pete's head either.

"I mentioned nothing about sex." I reminded him in a desperate and hopeless struggle to somehow get out of this mess, but Pete wouldn't allow that at all. Pete just wouldn't let me anywhere near him without a make out session at the very least these days, passed along with the excuse that I was his boyfriend and was therefore obligated to or some shit that made just as little sense.

"I mentioned Breaking Bad." Yeah, i didn't really need reminding, but of course Pete still deemed it entirely necessary, because he was Pete and that's how he worked.

"I do hate you, you know." I reminded him, because of this, he did need reminding - he needed reminding every moment of every fucking day, Jesus Christ.

"Yes, darling, I've been informed." Darling- fuck. He could call me that forever and I'd be in love with him regardless of what else was in that sentence. Jesus, Pete just shouldn't be able to have this kind of effect on me, because it was sanity crushing, but it being to do with Pete it was of course in a good way - the best way.

"Shut up - I'll be at yours in ten minutes, okay?" Why I was going along with this I didn't have a clue, but I just guessed that Pete was not only very persuasive, but very attractive too. And that seriously the worst and yet most attractive combination God- Satan could have ever fucking created. And of course Pete Wentz was created with nothing other than the intention to completely fucking ruin me.

"Okay." He answered, his voice riddled with smug undertones that I wanted to punch right out of his words, but he had a fucking pretty face so my wants were temporarily restrained by my subconscious.

"Shut up." I settled with a childish and low key retort, because it was generally harmless and seemed to fit moderately well within the situation.

"Make me." Now he was just asking for it, this little bastard. I did hate Pete Wentz at times, yet most of the time I found myself doing nothing but loving him.

"Watch me." I grinned, hanging up the phone, basking in the silence, listening only my own sheer satisfaction of being a pissy little prick.

Mikey: 1 : Pete: 345678

Yeah, maybe my smug satisfaction could only stretch quite so far.

-

"You're late." He announced, opening the door to a house that stank of a mismatched and excessive use of just about every type of scented candle known to man.

I should have expected Pete's utter disregard for whatever I told him not to do, because it was nothing short of a downright inevitability, especially when he was entirely convinced upon the fact that somehow the two of us would be engaging in some sort of intimacy tonight.

I however was really not so sure, deciding that maybe going to sleep would be a whole lot more enjoyable, and would piss Pete off a great deal, which would be nothing short of quality entertainment.

"I'm late by two minutes." I corrected him, pushing past him and into his house. I didn't entirely want to be in a room that stank clearly of something very pungent and probably just as illegal but it sure beat putting up with Pete's flirtatious repetitive mildly argumentative shit.

"You should value that two minutes - that's two minutes that you've missed of my dick sucking prowess." Yeah, that was always a two minutes that was never ever going to fucking happen, but Pete seems to have sailed right past that point as if it's nothing at all.

"You know, I'm getting less keen on this entire idea as time goes by." I reminded him in an awfully disguised hint for him to drop it completely, but Pete being Pete either understood the hint and just chose to ignore it, or simply didn't understand it altogether.

"You know, I already have Breaking Bad set up, so you're far too late to drop out now." Is he that seriously, because for one, I'm simply betting upon waltzing out the front door like the arrogant little prat I'm nothing short of. I blame Pete absolutely entirely, because is there any other way to go about things in life? Yeah, you're right - absolutely not.

"Nah, I don't let dicks who try to drug me with scented candles and herbal teas-" Seriously, I kind of hoped Pete was taking the piss with that shit, but unfortunately, it really didn't look like it at all. Pete was just goddamn crazy, man. Pete was inexplicably Pete and that was pretty much all I could say.

"I put the sedatives in the shots - no need for teas, Mikes." He winked at me, a grin flashing across his face as nothing more than a micro expression. 

I really couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so I just decided to avoid any and all alcohol tonight- in fact, it was probably better if I just avoided any and all edible substances, because if Pete can spike something, he will have done.

Jesus Christ, why is this guy my boyfriend? I will never understand, my love for this guy, but it's fucking strong, I know that. Pete does an awfully good job of reminding me of it as well.

"I could kill you, you know." I couldn't, but I chose to inform him regardless, maybe just because I wanted to tell him just how pissed off I was, but with that cheesy grin that seemed to be permanently plastered between my cheeks, I clearly wasn't doing the best of jobs by any means.

"I'd like to see you try." He taunted me, being a cheeky little bitch as per usual; because I honestly didn't think Pete Wentz came with any other function that to flirt excessively and annoying the fuck out of me in the best way possible. The two often coincided as well, which was just fucking confusing.

"Frankly, I don't think you'd enjoy your own murder awfully that much." I pointed out, taking his words far too literally with no other aim than to severely piss him off, because I was a nice guy like that.

Well, truthfully, I actually was a nice guy before Pete came and corrupted me with his Breaking Bad addiction and a flat to make any pyromaniac proud. I'm not even going to start on the herbal teas, dude.

"You wouldn't kill me, because you love me." He sounded far too certain in his words, but then again he could be, because his words were nothing short of the blatant truth. I was pathetic - pathetically in love with him, Jesus Christ I sound like some kind of thirteen year old girl with a crush. Dear Jesus, what has Pete Wentz reduced me to?

"You sure about that?" I smirked at him, not quite letting him get away with the utter satisfaction of being right at first, but after a second the both of us knew exactly what was going on here.

I think the fact that I was in love with him was also kind of bleedingly obvious, or so Gerard's pointed out to me multiple times whilst being the world's biggest hypocrite as he ignored and passed off any and all allegations regarding him and Frank.

"Yeah, I just think you need a little more vodka before we can act upon our love." He waggled his eyebrows at me in what was quite possibly the most cringe worthy manner. I felt like burying my head deep beneath the pits of hell to be honest.

"Yeah, I second that." Deciding that alcohol, even if it was drugged to hell would at least aid in making this situation considerably less awkward.

"Knew you'd agree eventually, Mikes." I groaned, coming to a realisation upon the fact that I'd just given into Pete Wentz - damn.

"You sure about that?" I counteracted in one final and useless attempt to win back some degree of my dignity. I just pushed it off within seconds, because dignity was only a matter when you were sober.

"Hella." He winked at me, dragging me unwillingly by the wrist into the kitchen, leaving me to lean distrustingly against the countertop as he grabbed just about every bottle of alcohol he could carry in two hands, and of course two glasses.

We couldn't just drink out of bottles now, could we? We were classy motherfuckers.

-

"Fuck, Pete." I groaned as he pressed me down against his bed, the sheets discarded in a heap and the TV making low humming static noises in the background as we both neglected turning the thing off.

By the time Breaking Bad had finished, I was far too drunk to even consider saying no to someone quite as cute as Pete. I was just a little pissed at how successfully his plan had ended up working, because this was all far, far from my initial intention.

My initial intention being to go to sleep and piss him off, but oh no, things did not seem to work out like that, seeing as the two of us were in minimal amounts of clothing, nothing between our skin but sweat and friction.

"You drunk enough yet, or do you want another shot?" He slurred, a lopsided grin making its way onto his lips. He looked awfully fucking cute if I pushed aside his disgustingly intoxicated state, which was actually rather easy to do once I considered my own.

I wondered who of us was the most drunk. It was kind of hard to evaluate drunkenness when you're drunk yourself, seeing as pretty much everything in your judgement is screwed up to a barely comprehendible state.

Pete had probably drunk more, but I was kind of a lightweight- well, more than kind of. I was a fucking lightweight, let's be honest here. Pete practically had some sort of intolerance to anything below a deadly level of alcohol which was kind of fucking worrying, but I was too fucking drunk to give a damn right now.

"I think you're well drunk enough, Pete." I giggled a little as began working away at creating at least a dozen more hickeys to litter my neck. It ticked, goddamn. Also it was really cute, as was everything about Pete. Pete was just awh.

How did I end up with Pete I don't know- something about blowjobs? Yeah, blowjobs, I like blowjobs, I like Pete too. Huh? See a connection because I do.

"You think so babe? I disagree." He mumbled into my skin, his hot breath contrasting the icy air that clung to my skin, leaving the surface with some sort of fuzzy tingling feeling which I wasn't quite sure whether it was down to Pete or simply the alcohol.

I hadn't really gotten quite this drunk before, so I found myself stumbling in the dark regarding what the hell was going on, and I should be panicky as fuck, but the alcohol was sorting that shit out for me. I couldn't give a damn about tingly fuzzy affects when Pete was this fucking cute- damn.

"Mmm...." I moaned as he sucked upon my neck with intense strength. Had he been turned into hulk or was that again just the fuzzy shit? I hadn't a clue; I just knew that this neck action was fucking good and I was never going to let him stop - ever.

"You're wearing far too many clothes." He noted, making a start upon my shirt, pulling the thing over my head and discarding it in whatever direction his throw caused it to land.

I should have been startled, but his actions had barely registered before I was shirtless and by then I just found myself shrugging it off seeing as that was the easy, effortless option and I was a lazy little shit at times. Now being one of them.

"Mmm... you think?" I mumbled into his exposed chest - Pete had gone shirtless just about as soon as we'd sat down to watch Breaking Bad, discretion passed entirely aside, but he looked far too good shirtless for me to even comprehend the matter of making a fuss about anything.

"I know, Mikes." He made a start on my jeans, pulling them over my ass down to my knees, leaving me to kick them down to my ankles and then further disregard them entirely.

Jeans were unnecessary tonight, he'd decided, leaving me to realise that he had indeed well and truly won and there was absolutely nothing I could even struggle to do that would rectify the situation.

I couldn't protest, not that I would, before we were both in our boxers and his lips were pressed firmly against mine, his arms continuously pinning me down against his mattress. It was really comfy as well, so I mean it wasn't as if I was uncomfortable or anything, meaning there was absolutely no point in moving or resisting at all.

His lips moved in time with mine, and perhaps he was even performing better than last time, but I suppose that now he had a little experience with me and had the advantage of knowing exactly what I liked. But there was the matter that he was drunk - he could that work out? Or maybe it was just the fact that I was even more drunk than he was, leaving me unable to judge anything realistically.

However, as I was barely not a virgin and still just as awkward, I was pretty much clueless when it came to him and as to what he liked. He tended to dominate me out of habit as well, so to be honest, I just went with him, letting him guide this whole activity, despite how fucking stubborn I intended upon being sometimes.

"You're so hot." He pushed his words against my chest between kisses. His lips gradually went down my collarbones, before slowly moving down my chest to reach my protruding hipbones, which for god knows what reason, he'd seem to take an awful liking to.

"You're so drunk." I noted. His kissing ability wasn't at all hindered by his intoxication though, as he managed to trail pretty much sober kisses down every inch of my skin.

"You're not so drunk." He also noted, a smug grin lying across his face.

"I had one shot." I protested with not a blatant lie, but possibly just mere under-exaggeration.

"Spoil sport." He grumbled, his hands travelling downwards as they of course, inevitably would have to; Pete wasn't going to be modest about this - Pete didn't do modest.

"What good would the two of be if we were both stumbling around and slurring like absolute idiots?" So really it was a blessing that I hadn't downed four bottles of vodka like Pete had.

Pete shrugged, the vodka not affecting him too much, yet still noticeably. "You'd be easier to convince into letting me fuck you."

"Last time you got me drunk, I ended up fucking you, remember?" I winked at him, a smirk slithering across my features as my gaze happened upon the raging blush that was taking over his cheeks.

"No, honey - that was the viagra." I rolled my eyes; he's my boyfriend - he should have no need to drug me with viagra... "At least you won't be making that mistake again."

"Whatever." He mumbled, grabbing the waistband of my boxers a little too eagerly, almost like an excited toddler, but that simile feels creepy and out of place within this context. "So babe, do you think I could fuck you tonight?"

"Pete-" I sighed, releasing his name along with a prolonged breath.

"Let me suck you off at the very least - I mean it is the Breaking Bad thing. It's on my bucket list as well."

"You have a bucket list?" I raised my eyebrows, not quite seeing Pete to be the type for any of that kind of stuff. He was kind of more of a hands on person, but people never came at face value; I'd learned that by now.

"Yeah, look I'll tell you about it later - let me suck your dick right now."

I couldn't even protest or respond for that matter, before his lips were doing their thing, taking me in all at once and I couldn't help but clutch the sheets and bite back a moan of pleasure, because Pete was stupidly good at this kind of thing, and that coupled with the ability that he was impossible to say no to, was really the most dreadful of combinations.

-

"Pete?" I put my phone to my ear, surprised to have not heard his eye splitting screech of 'Mikes' by now, but whatever it saved my ears a little, so I wasn't complaining entirely. I was still fucking tired out from a few nights ago- Pete had been awfully persistent.

"Hey, Mikessss!" Yup, there it was. It wasn't up to Pete's usual standards at all, which immediately led me to suspect that something was up.

"What's up, Pete?" I asked, curiosity never straying far from my words. "Don't even try and bullshit me - you haven't even attempted to deafen me at all yet."

"I'm in hospital, Mikes-"

"What?" I didn't let him finish, my jaw dropping. "You were fine - you sucked me off like two days ago. Have you managed to snap your spine in that time or something?" I was joking simply for the simple fact that I hoped things would remain that way.

"Dude, I fell down the stairs - I hit my head and passed out, I haven't got concussion or anything don't worry. You're Alastair right?" He joked with his fucking stupid sense of humour.

"Shut up." It wasn't funny; I didn't even want to consider loosing Pete in anyway shape or form.

"So yeah, I have a pretty ugly looking bump and a bandage, but other than that I'm fine and I should be able to leave tomorrow." He reassured me, talking casually about falling down a flight of stairs like the arrogant little prat he is

"And is this some kind of ploy for me to smuggle you shit into that hospital?" Why was I even asking; it was Pete, of course it was.

"Yeah, dear god. Bring me something edible - I can't eat hospital food, Jesus Christ!" Called it.

"You underappreciate me, you know." I was slightly offended, yet overall kind of glad that he hadn't been begging to see me again, but I just had to be thankful that he wasn't quite that creepily possessive over me quite yet. I wasn't dating Ryan Ross for a reason.

"Yeah, dude. Bring yourself too - I want to see you. I miss you." That was clearly the closest Pete Wentz was going to get to actually giving me a compliment, so I just took it as it came.

"How could I not bring myself-?"

"Shut up." He was blushing; I could tell. It was still cute, even when I couldn't see it, because Pete was just always fucking cute. "You're the clever, English student guy."

"We both know how I bullshitted that exam so badly." I admitted for the both of us, deciding it'd be best to end my victory basking right this moment.

"Meh, I think Satan decided that he wanted to make you the world's next greatest novelist." I do worry for Satan's mental health in that case. And there you go - that's not a sentence you hear every day.

"Tough shit for Satan, because if he thinks I'm actually going to do anything with this degree then-"

"Satan will send you to the pits of hell and get his kinky hell demons to tie you down and torture you." I was glad I had pushed aside my theory of Pete being Satan because with that theory intact Pete's words would be nothing short of awfully suspicious.

"What? Don't you just mean Ryan Ross?" I could hear his spluttering laughter through the phone lines and I rewarded myself with a fucking smug little prat smile.

"Pretty much, yeah. Now isn't that an incentive for you to be the next J.K. Rowling, J.R.R. Tolkien, John Green, Suzanne Collins, Stephanie Meyer or whatever." there you go - the only five authors Pete can actually name.

"If I was Stephanie Meyer, that'd probably give Satan an excuse to give me a no returns trip to the very deepest pits of hell."

"True, but whatever. Now stop being a pissy little bitch and come bring me edible food." As if I was being the pissy bitch. Pete wins that title - hands down.

"Is pot noodle good because that's literally the only thing in our cupboards?" I found myself groaning aloud at our literal ignorance towards culinary diversity. The most diverse thing in our cupboards was the difference between the two different flavour pot noodles.

"Fuck, I don't care as long as it hasn't been made by this fucking hospital!" Clearly, Pete was in his pissy bitch mood, as aforementioned.

"Language." I mimicked my own mother, stepping up my pissy bitch game.

"Shut up."

"Okay." I hung up - pissy bitch level up.

-

"Mikessss!" He practically screamed at me as I came in through the ward door carrying a plastic bag full of oddly successfully smuggled in snacks of various kinds. It was weird how no one had even questioned my rather suspicious looking plastic bag that I clutched in my left hand, but then again it was Jersey - no one seemed to care.

"I brought you food." I grinned at him, placing the bag on his bed, and he scrambled towards it, rummaging through the items as I sat down on the chair beside the bed, feeling unappreciated, or at least second best to some pringles,

"I hate it having to see you outside of my bed, you know. You belong right in here."

"Shut up." I couldn't help but blush even if it was quite possibly the worst attempt at flirting known to mankind. How this guy gets laid I will never know.

"This food is fucking godly thank you-"

"Shush, Satan will hear you." The Satan shit was beginning to creep me out as well, so I was beginning to suspect dropping it would be nothing short of the best of ideas, yet somehow I couldn't quite bring myself to do so.

"Stop being a goddamn Satanist. Believe in Yoda or whatever." He demanded this insane part of his brain clearly in control again.

"To be honest, I'd make a pretty shit Jedi, though." I confessed, making note of my atrocious physical ability.

"True." He grinned at me, allowing me to drown in self-pity.

"I hate you." I lied. He just raised his eyebrows at me in a far too certain state of disbelief - I hated his cockiness, but it was a very important part of him and his massive ego. "Okay, maybe I love you, just a little though."

"Just a little?" Yeah, he wasn't buying it at all. I was a terrible liar, so I couldn't blame him.

"Okay, a lot. Maybe." I confessed.

"You're a terrible liar, Mikes."

"You're terrible at not falling down the stairs, Pete." I didn't even know what I was saying by now but I just went with it regardless.

"That's offensive - my injured head is deeply offended, I'll have you know." Why I put up with this guy I simply didn't have a clue. How was a whole different world entirely.

"How did you even fall down the stairs?" I asked, ignoring his mumbling and whining.

"I didn't want to trip over one of my candles-"

"I told you they were dangerous!" I exclaimed with far too much excitement for someone who most definitely wasn't a sadist. "Anyway, so to avoid tripping over a candle, you fell down the stairs?"

"Yup." He confirmed, sounding ridiculous with hilarity within the process. "At least I didn't set the house on fire, though."

"At the very least, yes." I sighed, letting him have that one at the very least.

"I love you." He confessed out of nowhere, his words tumbling out of what seemed like nothingness. "Lots."

"How much?" I winked, not particularly wanting a figure but more of just to tease him because I was an asshole like that.

"I love you in the same way there's a chapel in a hospital."

"What?" I met him with raised eyebrows, because I very much doubted that if those words held any meaning whatsoever, Pete wasn't at all aware of it.

"It's a metaphor... I think." I had to chuckle at that one, because the fact that even Pete didn't have a clue as to what the hell his words meant was nothing short of hilarious.

"You think?" I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, letting myself question my boyfriend's sanity for a brief moment in time.

"Yeah, I think." He confirmed seconds later, yet his words still riddled with mild uncertainty.

I couldn't help but let out a second chuckle. "I love you too." I responded, although it felt like it didn't even need saying I assumed he'd probably feel better if I did say it back.

"I damn well hope so." He winked, a smirk spreading across his features, the darkened shapes contrasting with the placid white that coated every inch of the hospital.

"As if I couldn't, though." I grinned at him, letting his ego have that one out of the kindness of my very own heart.

"Yeah, I know - I'm irrestible-" Yeah, I'm regretting my decision by now.

"I was more focusing upon the fact that you'd shoot everyone I know if I didn't agree to date you."

"You're ruining the moment." He said with a nervous laugh, maybe because my last statement wasn't such an exaggeration after all, or maybe he was just toying with me like the little shithead he was,

"Whatever." I grinned.

 

-

 

"Shows aren't really my scene, Pete." I admitted down the phone line, as once again I found myself engaging in yet another tiresome phone call with the one and only Pete Wentz.

At least now I was home alone, so at least Gerard couldn't make annoying comments in the background in general attempt to test and eventually break my patience. So that was a bonus at the very least.

"How can shows not be your scene- Mikes? Shows, man!" His words came out warily almost as if my dislike to drunken mosh pits was dehumanising me entirely. Well, in Pete's books, it probably was, but things weren't like that in mine.

"I don't know... there are just people and it's not... I don't know... my thing." I shrugged it off, knowing that Pete would be even more repulsed by the words that just left my lips but I couldn't care; he would just have to get over this shit.

"You're so anti-social - it's cute."

"How? How? How is it cute?" Anti-social was pissing me off, just like it was apparently doing so for Pete but most importantly was it in no way cute or adorable. But then again, Pete could look at a famished alligator and still want to suck it off, so I'm not entirely sure his opinion is one I trust in this matter.

"Because you're cute - everything about you is cute, Mikes. That's for certain, okay?" His words were sincere yet in no way convincing enough. And there most certainly was the matter that Pete was nothing short of a simply atrocious liar.

"Whatever you say, Pete. Whatever the hell you say." I sighed, letting him have his way for the sake of it. I was kind of tired and not in the mood to care about Pete Wentz and potentially hurt feelings.

"Princess-"

"Pete!" Jesus Christ - I could kill this guy pretty much all of the time and how I'd managed to end up being in love with him was really nothing short of an utter mystery.

"Yes, your knight in shining armour is here - you called..." he paused for a moment but the effect was unappreciated as by knowing Pete for more than a second, I knew far too well as to what was coming next, "princess." Damn, I was right, as unfortunately expected.

"Piss off, hospital boy." I let out the first words, reminiscent of an insult that came to my mind and evidently it really wasn't the best of insults at all. In fact my words barely even counted as insults and instead of even receiving a sigh over the phone, I just caught some badly muffled laughter as Pete Wentz basked in my utter hopelessness like the nice little shithead he was.

"Hospital boy?" I could sense the smirk even down the phone line, seeing as it was practically a signature feature of Pete.

"You managed to fall down the stairs to avoid a goddamn scented candle- I did tell you they were goddamn health and safety hazards but did you listen oh no, of course not. You’re Pete Wentz how the hell could you possibly have listened to a single goddamn word that left my lips- can you even hear a word I'm saying right now over the sound of that enormous ego of yours?"

"Mikes, Jesus Christ!" Pete let off a laugh like a steam train, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes contently in the solitude of my own kitchen where I could be the pissiest little bitch I damn well wanted to be.

"What?" I shrugged it off, as if I hadn't just spilled out a whole pile of shit to him for very little reason or with very little coherence.

"Dude, chill. My ego is fabulous - it's part of me, and I know you love it really so how about you shut the hell up?" Nah, I didn't think I'd take him up on that offer, you know. It was nothing personal. It was just the fact that he was annoying and I was stuck in the heart snapping situation of both loving and hating him.

"I'd rather not." I chuckled down the line at him, just to ensure that we couldn't somehow turn this into an actual argument because screwing things up with Pete Wentz was not on my agenda at all. As much as I hated the guy, I couldn't shake the fact that I was both painfully and hopelessly in love with him and really, I kind of just loved to hate him more than anything.

"Rebellious, Mikes?" His voice was taunting me now, and he was making it quite goddamn clear, like the pretentious little twat he was.

"Are we getting rebellious now? Hmm... I didn't put you down as the type to you know, fight back, but whatever it is, honey, I'm liking it- I mean you did this all yourself I didn't even put viagra in anything for you." Yeah, I think the fact that he hadn't drugged me up was kind of a good thing.

"Yeah, that's because I'm now careful not to accept anything from you. Anything at all. I swear the police should raid your house; there'd be someone at the drug search unit that you'd make cry." I chuckled a little to myself at the mental image of that; a drugs raid at Pete's house really wouldn't go down well at all.

"I'd make a policeman cry..." He pondered over the idea for a few moments, tossing it about between his brain cells as he almost toyed with it, considering the possibility.

"Yes, I think you would, to be honest. As much as it unnerves me." I said into the static and silence maybe just to ensure he hadn't put down the phone and ran off to the nearest police offer to do god knows what.

"That's a fascinating idea, you know." I could sense the smirk once again.

"Pete just seriously-" I protested, almost giving up on my boyfriend entirely within the few seconds he'd managed to drag this strand of conversation on for.

"Mikess...." He dragged out the nickname, putting on that puppy dog tone of voice that most likely had matching eyes which I was simply glad I couldn't see and was therefore immune to.

"Pete, I'm going to hang up if you carry on like this and then you have absolutely no chance of convincing me to come to you goddamn Fall Out Boy show, which probably isn’t even a show, and you've probably just rented out a whole strip club for the two of us- And don't do that, Wentz. Don’t you do that."

He let out a chuckle at that as he probably had planned that entirely word by word and if he hadn't, I was simply doing nothing short of giving him ideas. And then those ideas would become reality and really everything would go downhill from there, as things tended to when Pete Wentz was involved.

"This is the first Fall Out Boy show - you're my boyfriend, and my life support. You need to be there, we need you there, I need you there, Mikes. The whole band needs you there." I was pretty sure that the whole of his goddamn band didn't 'need' me there.

One half of Fall Out Boy wouldn't even have remembered my name from the one time I briefly met them, and Patrick and I aren't on the best of terms considering just how we ended up being acquainted.

Pete was just being a desperate little bitch, as usual. But a cute little desperate bitch so it wasn't like there was any hope of me managing to ignore him, of course.

"Dude, you got out of hospital mere hours ago and you think this is a good idea? You want to play a show with moshpits and crowd surfing and an after party with lots of booze and god knows what else?" As my mind cycled through the possibilities, things only seemed to get worse and I let out a muffled groan, almost face planting into the wall before I realised that a decision like that would end up sending me to hospital.

And then I'd have to put up with the shitty hospital food, the endless supply of grapes and most importantly, Pete's relentless and tiresome teasing. Yeah, that's really not at all on my agenda.

"And you don't?" Yeah, of course I don't - Jesus Christ. It was seriously like he was trying to get himself killed- yeah, actually I probably shouldn't think extensively about that before I ended up jinxing us all or something like that.

I'm really not one for superstition, but I do seem to have awful bad luck these days, so it can't hurt, and it's not as if I want to think excessively about the death of my boyfriend because that's really not healthy - for both of us, but for him in a much more literal sense.

"Of course I don’t and the only life support machine you need is the one attached to you while you're in a hospital bed!" He tutted, clearly just a little pissed off, or maybe he was just joking - you couldn't tell when it came to Pete Wentz and I hated that more than I hated him sometimes, but I was awful at hating him to be honest.

He chuckled, letting me on to the fact that in reality he really just wasn't at all bothered and that he simply liked messing with me far too much. "You're such a loser, Mikes." He said in an oddly affectionate and totally Pete Wentz manner, managing to piss me off just a little bit.

"It's called general rules regarding the fact that despite how much of a bitch you're being, I don't actually want you to die all that much."

To be honest, I couldn't even imagine living without Pete and simply the thought of him dying was just one that I didn't want to let cross my mind despite its eventual inevitability. It wouldn't happen for a long time though, I had that for my neurotic tendencies to rely upon.

"Harsh." He let out a chuckle, again absolutely not giving a shit as his voice left his lips in a manner reminiscent of a summer breeze... one that fucking blew in your direction causing you to lose your ice cream to a goddamn scavengerous seagull with one big fucking ego.

"Meh, harsh but true." I shrugged it off, trying and failing to rid my head of the quite frankly ridiculous seagull ice cream stealing fantasy that was quite honestly spinning my head around at what seemed like a thousand miles an hour.

"That's horrible. You're horrible." He made a mock crying noise, and I couldn't help but let out a hoard of really, really badly muffled laughter at that, because goddamn, Pete Wentz was going to ruin me in every and anyway he saw fit.

"Well, it's not like you'd want horrible people coming to your show, is it?" I took my turn to tease him now, enjoying how the twitching corners of his smirk turned down within instants, and letting a smirk replace the solemn look of my face in some sort of dodgy and probably illegal smirk smuggling trade.

"Oh piss off!" He sighed, letting out an exasperated and generally quite hopeless half sigh half grumble in a typical Pete Wentz temperamental two year old manner.

It was kind of cute at times with the big wide eyes and the overly pouty lips, but now this wasn't one of those times at all. I think it was probably to do with the fact that I couldn't see the pouty lips and big round eyes that led to my immunity, but I didn't tell him that because if I did end up revealing my weakness then if I gave it a few seconds, I'd probably end up with Pete's face pressed up against the nearest window.

His lips would be squashed against the glass in a mildly disgusting manner, but somehow he'd make it kind of cute with those Pete Wentz voodoo attraction powers he somehow managed to earn the right of possession of.

"You're being horrible now!" I protested, almost copying his two year old speech in an entirely and totally unregretful hypocritical two year old manner. It wasn't like toddlers knew the meaning of hypocrisy at all though, so surely I could pass it off with such a mediocre- well downright bullshit excuse as that.

"Whatever, honey, whatever. It's called artistic license." Apparently he didn't know what artistic license was either - well there's a surprise. It did amuse me though, as much as I wanted to smack both him and myself clean in the face, he was still awfully cute with this naiveness that sometimes did nothing but drive me straight up the wall.

"How is being a prat anything to do with artistic license whatsoever?" I reminded him, letting an utter unimpressed smirk slip onto the corners of my face.

Pete shrugged it off in nothing but an entirely mediocre manner. "It is because I say it is, goddamn." Well there goes a point for modesty, of course. Pete Wentz was the nation's mascot for modest and thoughtful behaviour without a single doubt. Note the obvious, heavy, and very over-applied sarcasm.

"I'm not sure the world works quite like that, but you can try, I guess." I let him have it to some extent, the rest of me still a little sleep deprived due to Pete's excessive late night phone calls that somehow never ever seemed to take the slightest toll upon him, which really did piss me off to an unheard of extent.

"The world abides by the laws and massive gravitational pull of my massive penis and you've seen it, you should know- come on, you know - I know you know. You're nodding because I have a massive dick and boy you know it-" I wasn't even nodding at all and in fact I was very concerned that he was watching me somehow through my windows, and despite the fact that the phone reception in my back garden was utter dog shit, I closed the blinds, just in case, you know.

"Pete Jesus Christ-" I protested once again, but like every time, an ego like that would never quite let me finish.

"Nope. I will not be silenced as I have a right to my freedom of speech, honey." Honey, dear god, here comes the inevitable and far too expected sweet talking method that was nothing but to be waited upon with any form of Pete Wentz persuasion or badly executed flattery, which I suppose kind of fell into the same category when it came to someone like him.

"And yet you're using this freedom of speech to boast and lie about this dick length you just don’t have, wow, mature." Maturity was evidently not something that could be considered Pete's forte, but I guessed he knew that at the very least, despite my obvious doubt regarding it.

"Emphasis on the freedom part, you know freedom as in do what you want with it." Well at least Pete knows the meaning of one word at the very least; he's just not entirely clear on how our government actually chooses to implement that 'freedom' bullshit.

Because for a goddamn land of the free, we don't get an awful lot of freedom, especially if you're not a white, American, heterosexual, cis gendered, male and you catch the eye of one in the street, well then to hell with that freedom; you'll be shot on sight. As of course our government chose to implement freedom with the freedom of firearms use, as of course that's exactly the kind of freedom everyone needs.

"Yeah, I know what it means - I have an English degree.” Yes, I knew this would eventually come in useful, even in the most unlikely of circumstances. This is what I didn't read Pride and Prejudice for - pissing off my boyfriend. Yup, thank you college.

"Shut the hell up, we both know you bullshited that, and in fact, Way, I helped you, so shut up." Yeah, okay he had a point, despite the fact that it was Gerard that stole the DVD from Lindsey or whatever the hell that girl he actually went on a date with was called.

I wondered if he'd actually bothered to give that back or not. I very much doubted that he actually would have, considering the fact that he's Gerard and he's about as reliable as an unruly and literary incompetent otter. Not that I know many otters that are superb in their literary expertise, but you never know, maybe I just don't know the right otters- in fact, I don't know any otters, well not personally.

That's really disheartening. I think I'd like to befriend an otter, and now I'm also certain that again Pete Wentz has managed to drug me once again. How he manages it I will never know and at the very least that's something I have to commend him for, if only sarcastically.

"Nah, I'd just rather lay here in my empty house and drink coffee as I appreciate the emptiness of my house and the ability to have some coffee without it being stolen or to be able to walk into the basement without the fear of being scarred for life by coming into contact with your naked brother."

Yeah, I should just avoid the basement at all costs if I'm honest. Especially when Frank's over, because that's an experience I really don't want to relive dear god.

"Most people watch porn when they're home alone, Mikes. You're missing out, I tell you." The fact that Pete wanted me to watch porn was really fucking creepy, and of course, since he was Pete Wentz, that was entirely nothing short of the point.

"It's not entirely my thing and anyway... Gerard just has this creepy thing like he'd just know and I don't want him to know oh my god, because he would tell mum in a heartbeat. He’d be like ‘oh mother dear don't sit there, Mikey Way your youngest son ejaculated at precisely 4:16pm on a Tuesday on that chair."

"You should come to the show, you know." He let that slip back into conversation, the words rolling off his tongue like nothing more than an overly suggestive hint misplaced into an obvious and just a little annoying trap.

"No." I shot him back a clear answer, maybe just to piss him off a lot, but mostly because I was far too tired to come up with a comprehensive list of reasons as to why I simply couldn't be bothered with shows. He could get me over the phone and I'd say words of encouragement at perfectly timed minute intervals if he wanted, but goddamn I just didn't fit into the atmosphere of a rock show one bit, and I thought my own boyfriend could have guessed that by now.

But Pete has this thing where if something isn't in his favour, then of course he's totally oblivious to it in the world's most mature manner possible. I guess it could come in useful sometimes, but for the most part that shit's nothing short of damn right annoying.

"Why not?" He spoke in the pout present voice once again, once again nothing more than in a mediocre attempt to piss me off, or possibly even win me over, but with the chances of the latter working, well realistically anyway, I went with the former, probably just to piss him off, you know.

"You'll be there." I answered, my face laden with a blatant smirk that I was simply kind of glad he couldn't see, well if as I suspected, and his face was pressed up against my window, he probably had a prime view of the smirk across my lips, but I was just counting on the fact that I had a slightly over active and generally kind of concerning imagination.

"You’re coming to this goddamn show or Mikey Way I will drag you out of your house and make you come." He yelled down the phone, assuring me in a sort of creepily all-knowing and kind of god like manner.

"I'm in my goddamn underwear-" I stopped myself as soon as I realised that this really wasn't the best thing to tell Pete Wentz, but of course, I realised far too late. Because now the flirting, flattering and generally love and war games were all on, but I guess two could play, even if I could barely play in anything over than a ridiculously shitty manner.

"All the better-" There was definitely a wink through that phone line - I could sense it in these Pete Wentz psychic powers which I had been apparently 'gifted' with, but honestly I wasn't sure I wanted to know what went on in that head of his for the most part of the time.

"Pete-"

"Maybe you should have kept that cocksucking mouth of yours shut then, you know, and then maybe I wouldn't know- oh my god you totally are masturbating!" He exclaimed out of nowhere, connecting together a thankfully false accusation.

That ego of his must be bursting entirely now if he managed to assume that I was touching myself over the sound of his static distorted voice over the phone. Yeah, this couldn't be good for either of us, to be honest.

"I'm not." And I’m that sad that I wasn't even lying, not that touching myself during a phone call with Pete Wentz makes you at the height of popularity- oh shit... he's got this idea because he's definitely done exactly that to me before and Pete has this thing where he doesn't quite appreciate how messed up his head is and just assumes that everyone else thinks exactly like him. 

I kind of feel sorry for him, but just a little, because I shouldn't really and what he is thinking is definitely something not to be taken seriously, or it'll lead to... serious consequences.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire with the fury of cock rising against them-" Oh dear lord - I just need Jesus. Pete needs Jesus. We all need goddamn Jesus.

"I'm glad you don’t design those children's nursery rhyme things-"

"What the hell? In what pit of hell is that a nursery rhyme?" Yeah, he had a point, despite the fact that he was the one with the messed up head that came up with that in the first place.

"The one you spawned out of." 

"You seem to be awfully well acquainted with it." 

"And whose fault is that?"

"Your own, and only your own."

"Piss off, let me get back to prancing around my kitchen naked like a loser, okay?" I wondered if simply the thought of me being naked home alone would be enough to entice Pete into shutting up entirely- aw shit! The only thing it'd entice him to do would come over to my house and get some of that naked action that fortunately wasn't even occurring.

"Not a chance, Mikes. That naked offer is something that is in fact far too good to even consider passing up - I'm coming over now. You're coming to this show, Way. Whether you like it or not, whether you have clothes on or not - I don't care. But after you've sucked me off of course. We've got time for a quickie before sound check and if not I don't care if we’re late." Well... shit.

"Pete, I am not-" Naked. Yeah, he wouldn't let me finish as I doubted that he particularly wanted to ruin a fantasy he probably had running through his head right now.

"I will make you go to that show if it's the last thing either of us do."

"I would like to watch you try. Because not for anything, not for you, not for Breaking Bad, not for those stupid puppy dog eyes of yours am I getting dragged along to this show of yours with alcohol and strippers and that guy you cheated on me with before."

"As I said, watch me."

And then, he did the untypical Pete Wentz thing and actually slammed the phone down. I was in awe for a few moments, before I let the handset slip through my fingers and back down onto the hook.

I glanced at my coffee that was now stone cold on the kitchen counter and tipped the icy contents down the kitchen sink, creating a few caffeine based stains that no one would bother to clean up within the next decade or so.

I then found my eyes travelling downwards towards my boxer shorts. I chuckled at the joys of an empty house and how Pete would simply put a stop to that. Although, I'd topped this guy, I still wasn't quite so keen upon him walking in on me quite like this, so I hurried upstairs and tried my best to rectify my situation with the lack of clothing as I imagined Pete racing as fast as he can, breaking every speed limit to get to my house just to see me in my underwear.

It was an amusing picture, if not one that was definitely freaking creepy, but then again Pete Wentz's speciality was nothing but bringing the two; both creepy and amusing together.

He was stupidly determined and I found the will within me to shoot him on sight, but no, I had a boyfriend and that was something to be appreciated, his stubbornness, however was not.

And believe me; I was not going to this shitty show, even if it was the last decision I made.

-

"You want another drink, Mikes?"

"No, I'd like you to piss off and stop being so damn persuasive."

He chuckled, shaking his head at me as if i was being entirely trivial, before sliding an alcoholic beverage of a kind I couldn't recognise and probably wasn't even legal due to the amount of 'herbal tea' was probably mixed up with this shit. I wasn't in at all the mood to give a damn though.

I drank it regardless, because I was stupid enough to listen to anything Pete Wentz said these days, as now I found myself sat at a bar in the venue of Fall Out Boy's show. And somehow, somehow he'd even managed to get me to agree to let his lips wrap around my dic- yeah, of course he'd taken me up on the naked offer. I should have seen that coming, but of course I didn't in time at the very least.

Pete was a sneaky bastard, okay.

They'd (Fall Out Boy, I mean - not the pre-show action. I wasn't the time to give compliments to people like Pete Wentz at all, even if they were totally indirect) actually been quite good, if there wasn't the fact that I was constantly cringing as Pete made a habit of winking at me throughout their set and especially throughout the songs that were rather blatantly about me.

And now the goddamn after party had begun, which involved a lot of nakedness and vodka and I never thought I'd say this, but I actually wanted to sneak off home with Pete, even if home involved the bedroom, because whatever Pete could pull off in there was with no doubt better than this.

"Persuasive is my speciality, along with hot ass irrestible manwhore, of course." Yeah, unfortunately for me.

"I disagree." I sighed, pushing the words off with a slight slur as if this was nothing to me. Well Pete's utter lack of modesty was nothing new at the very least, but whether I could put up with it was still an obvious no, and it was nothing but an obvious no that Pete was awfully proud of to the point of utter ridiculousness even.

"And yet you still did me." He reminded me in quite possibly the most annoying manner, but then again annoying was the Pete Wentz speciality.

"And yet I did." I reminded myself with a shake of my head and a reminder to myself that regardless of dodginess, I definitely needed something to drink.

I sighed, downing the remainder of my drink, and groaning instantly at the headache that followed moments later. This was a bad idea and there was little doubt about that, but of course there was also very little I could do about it now except pray like a good little bitch that that this party would somehow end at some point.

"You are quite good, you know." He said into the silence, and I found my way watching the way his eyes caught the light in an amused expression, with subtly pissed off undertones to add to the effect of course.

"In general or...?"

"In bed." Of course, my suspicions were nothing but concerned, as I would have guessed with this being Pete Wentz and all and the fact that he was nothing short of a dirty little bastard.

"Yes, I am." I let myself take this one, of course, because although it was wrapped around Pete's tongue, it was still somehow a compliment and despite deeper and possibly seductive meaning, I was going to be a blunt idiot and take it at face value, because I could.

"I'm better though." There's Pete's amazing modesty again on show, of course my favourite part of him as well, without a single doubt.

"I disagree." I watched his eyes as they sparkled under the light and tried my best not to notice his totally overly dilated pupils, because that was something I just wanted to ignore and possibly even drink enough to forget about. I'm a great boyfriend, as you can tell.

"You're wrong."

"Hmphh..." I sighed, letting him be right, because he was and I was too tired and not quite stubborn enough to argue against that this time. Pete winked at me before letting the corners of his lips relax and sliding another drink in my direction, and this time I took even less hesitation within taking the first sip. This one definitely tasted dodgy.

This first one had of course, but at least that one was trying to hide it where as this one was practically screaming "LSD HEROIN WEED COCAINE DRUGS GIMME DRUGS" or something of that nature. I kind of presumed that was how Pete's brain worked, but then again, I later decided that may that wasn't something I wanted to think about excessively.

"I guess our opinions differ." I couldn't help but slur my words by now, especially with the last drink because that one wasn't even trying to hide the fact that it was spiked.

"You're drunk." He chuckled.

"Well spotted. I couldn't help but commend him like the nice little boyfriend I am.

"You've only had like two drinks you goddamn lightweight."

"Yes, two drinks and whatever the hell you've spiked them with. It smells very illegal by the way. How do you even get this stuff?"

"Damn." He chuckled, winking at me and I once again found myself in the gun to the head situation where I couldn't actually tell if he was joking or not.

"You are joking right?" I wasn't expecting to get a straight answer by any means, but of course I was determined enough to try nonetheless. Or maybe I was just as damn stubborn as Pete himself. Who knows?

"Definitely... not at all."

Dear god, this guy would actually be the death of me - he would cause my hanging and the impaling of my spinal cords on a stick and god he was going to enjoy it- well, maybe only enjoy it if it was my metaphorical death, because if I was physically dead he'd have no one to watch Breaking Bad with and for someone like Pete that would definitely be a problem.

"Pete..."

"Shut up and kiss me, princess." And despite the blatantly stupid pet name he most certainly overused around me, I did. Because I was in love with him, probably. I went for that one, because I was too tired to keep my ego in check and make up some shit.

He tasted high; he tasted like alcohol, weed, and Pete at the same time. With a hint of sweaty lips and guitar playing experience.

He tasted like someone I should be running from and not falling in love with.

There was no point in running anyway, because despite how fit and healthy he insisted he was, he still could barely run after getting out of the hospital now, and as sadistic as it sounds it was awfully amusing.

"Honey what are you laughing at?" He breathed against my lips, pausing the tongue friction momentarily to exchange painfully awkward small talk that was nothing short of a goddamn Pete Wentz speciality.

"You... and how drunk you are."

"Hypocrite." He muttered, his hot breath upon mine.

"Yes, I do believe I am, honey." And then like mismatched and definitely breaking clockwork, our drunken kissing began again, my lips missing his entirely the first time, but by the second attempt, I got it spot on. I didn't even need to tell myself that because the moan that escaped his lips was definitely confirmation enough.

-

As the night went on, I found myself losing Pete in the crowd and almost making out with this Australian dude with a green Mohawk. It was kind of weird and I'm glad I had Pete as my boyfriend to use an excuse, even if that did sound awfully shallow.

I was pissed drunk - Pete of all people would understand, and as my spinning head directed my poorly conducted body around the venue, I somehow managed to end up happening upon a figure curled up in the corner; Pete, without a doubt.

I was excited to have finally found the one guy I vaguely trusted with this mess of illegalities, and sweaty bodies that spoke in the language of quickies in cupboards and horrible make out sessions that you could probably catch several STDs from within a few seconds.

"Pete!" I called out his name as I pushed through the heaving masses of bodies until I finally reached his curled up frame, but as I saw him, as my eyes fell upon his palm, I wasn't quite so excited to have seen him anymore, and as my heart practically fell out of my chest, I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to breathe anymore.

"Mikes..." He stumbled out, but his words were irrelevant as I eyed the little red capsules in his palm. Those little red capsules that had their purpose far too obviously printed all over them.

This was different to the herbal teas and scented candles, because really that was just messing about, whereas this... this was scary, because this reminded me of Gerard and I didn't want to go there again, especially now I was old enough to truly understand what was going on.

I kind of missed the innocent of my younger years sometimes, now being one of them, because otherwise I just couldn't forget... I couldn't forget what happened those years ago and how if Frank hadn't helped him fall in love with being alive... things would have gone very downhill.

And that can't happen to Pete, in fact, I won't let it happen to Pete. I'm going to be world's biggest stubborn bitch about it as well.

"Did you take those?" I pointed towards the pills, one bony finger crawling out in a direct and blatant line of accusation. I inhaled what felt like all the air in the room before I painfully waited for his reply.

"Why do you want some because you can't have any- they're mine. Go get some off of that guy there, yeah him he's giving them out," I watched as Pete vaguely gestured to a guy with short blonde hair that looked pretty stoned himself - stoned enough to give people free drugs anyway. "Yeah, him- I can’t remember his name, but I doubt he'll mind, you know-"

"Pete! I don't want any drugs!" I snapped out far too loudly, catching the attention of quite a few people nearby. Most of them went back to ignoring me within seconds, but of course there was always one, one that didn't, and this was somehow the worst one of all.

"Sugar, you are wasting your time at a party." A voice I recognised somehow spoke out and I turned to see Pete's 'dealer'.

"Yes, I've got it now!" Pete hiccupped out what I hoped was alcohol, but I couldn't tell or even trust him for that matter now.

"Petey are you okay?" Petey? What the hell? Who the hell was this dude? And most importantly just how high was he? Actually scratch the latter, because I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know the answer to that, despite the fact it seemed as if I'd be getting one regardless of choice.

"Yes, I remembered - you're Bertie Bert- Bert McCracken!" And then my jaw dropped and my heart sank because this couldn’t be the Bert McCracken, but really there was only one Bert McCracken and despite the obvious appearance change, this demeanour was unmistakeably him.

"Bert McCracken..." The words fell from my lips, the world seeming to crack and collapse under my feet, as I barely managed to keep my internal organs... internal.

"Yeah, Bert this is my boyfriend, Mikey Way." And then he met my eyes with a look of knowing, because now he's remembered me, and we're really in shit now. We're in the goddamn biggest shitload of shit ever and we have to go.

I grabbed Pete by the hand and dragged him out, "yeah sorry, we've got to go."

-

"Why did we leave?" He slurred, clearly not sober enough to bring any sense or sanity to the situation whatsoever, which really wasn't looking good to say the least.

"That's Bert McCracken. Bert McCracken." His eyes lit up and I think something connected in that head of his somehow. I was glad that at least he wasn't high enough to have forgotten who this asshole was. That was a positive at the very least, despite the fact I wanted to entirely remove him from existence more than anything.

"I got drugs from Bert McCracken- shit..." He let the words come out within an exhalation as if he hadn't quite got them through his narcotics clouded system yet. But saying them out loud like that really brought them into reality and that scared me like nothing else, because I didn't want to think about this, not at all.

"Why were you even taking pills in the first place- look, Pete, this is not good, okay?" I continued, trying to get the important message into his head, because I wasn't letting Pete go down the path Gerard did. I just wouldn't let that happen.

"Mmm..." He sighed, clearly no giving the slightest care in the world to the words that left my lips. "They’re fun, okay." Shit. I felt hopeless now; like I couldn't stop him, almost paralysed within both my words and my actions. I think it was just the alcohol and whatever else that was in with it causing me to react quite so dramatically.

"Drugs are dangerous." I felt like I was teaching an unenthusiastic and entirely government funded high school personal development class, but I was trying to get an important message across here, even if it was one that refused to be heard.

"I know." He admitted as if it was nothing, which evidently to him it damn well seemed to be.

"Pete you could die!" I argued my point further but still it had no effect.

"I don't care - we're all going to die someday. I might as well make the best of what I have left, you know." What did he mean?

"Pete you're not going to die for a long time - it's these drugs that are what's going to kill you- please stop." I was begging now. Begging for him, couldn't he just step off that goddamn pedestal he's stuck on and understand that he's hurting me with this?

"It's not a problem, Mikey - this is just a party thing, you know fun? Have you heard of that recently or is your head still stuck up that ass of yours?"

"This is a fricking problem, Pete. They are goddamn addictive and you'll just mess your whole life up like this and I don't want to watch you do that." I don't want to watch somebody else do that. "I can't."

He simply scoffed, as if I was being nothing short of ridiculous and not entirely rational and maybe in fact just trying to save his life. "Like you know shit about anything, Mikey." He snapped at me, his words spiked with a poisonous tone. "This isn't drug abuse, or overdose, or a goddamn suicide attempt. You know that - I'm just having the fun that your loser virgin ass can't have."

"Pete, just let me explain-" I protested, pushing the harshness of his words aside, and ignoring just quite how they did hurt, because they hurt; they cut like carving knives into flesh.

"No, let me. If you want to learn about any of those things that you accused me of this isn't how about you just go and go ask that brother of yours, huh? The one that wanted to take Bert McCracken up the ass, yeah. Ask him."

I went paler than pale, I went ‘Pete Wentz just threw my whole world and everything to shit’ pale. I could barely breathe for the first few seconds, my respiratory system halting entirely to cater for the fact that my head was just about to roll right off my shoulders.

"Piss off you asshole, I hate you!" I screamed in quite possibly the most mature way before storming off inside and grabbing the nearest and strongest looking alcoholic beverage before downing it all in one go and generally regretting it afterwards.

But I didn't care.

My head spun as thoughts of Bert and Pete ran around my head and how I had to warn Gerard about Bert being back in town, but I couldn't put that on him not now with Frank and now he was finally happy but I have to, because Bert could mess everything Gerard had up more easily and much worse than I could.

But I couldn't make decisions in this state, my head spinning and my heart leaping out of my chest as the strings tore apart in aid of Pete Wentz and his goddamn ego. I should have ran, I should have just ran, but now everything’s gone to shit and my heart's heavier than a goddamn rock.

My heart's weighing me down, pulling me away from consciousness and as my head takes one final spin, I'm gone down on the floor, the sounds of the venue blurring out in the background as my eyes shut securely, putting a locked gate on the hell outside.

-

I woke up in my own bed, to my own surprise greatly, as the memories came back within an instant reminding me as to just what had actually occurred last night, and the moment I was reminded, I couldn't help but drag myself out of bed and leg it downstairs, still in a shirt and my boxers.

i was surprised to find Gerard, Pete, and Frank sat in the kitchen all drinking coffee and looking rather grim, leaving me to wonder exactly what in the way of conversation, had gone down between them.

Gerard noticed my presence first, but Pete was the first to speak, his eyes connecting with mine in what appeared to be a heart wrenchingly sincere apologetic glance.

"Mikey, god, I am really sorry - I was drunk out of my mind. It's just like sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills, you know?" He sighed, choosing poetry once again to wind me around his anger and I hated how it worked, because it did.

"Yeah, it's okay. I forgive you." I just watched Gerard awkwardly as I decided against coffee and simply snuggled into Pete, far too tired for any form of arguing. He was cuddly and I loved him, so you know, this option was easier.

"I love you, goddamn." He pressed a kiss against my neck and I giggled and blushed, noting Gerard's bemused expression out of the corner of me eye.

"I love you too, Pete."

"Well..." Gerard let out a sigh and then Pete somehow got the hint and thank god he jumped away from me.

"I can't get over the fact that my little brother actually went to a party though." Gerard grinned like an idiot on crack and I rolled my eyes, feeling just a little sick in my stomach as memories of what actually happened at said after party resurfaced like a lake lurking monster.

"I was kind of forced into it, okay." I confessed, looking up at Pete with big eyes that I hoped would strike some form of guilt into him, but of course Pete was an oblivious heartless bastard and barely even noticed my glances.

"Nah, it was obligatory." Pete reminded me, winking in probably the least subtle way known to mankind.

"Same thing."

Gerard chuckled, raising his eyebrows as he glanced between the two of us with an amused expression. "The last time you went to a party was when you were six and it was mine. You were a compulsory guest. I didn't even want to invite you."

"My heart is broken now." I pouted and faked sadness, looking absolutely ridiculous but really, I couldn't care at all.

"Aw you little dork." Pete grinned like an utter idiot and I couldn't help but return that grin, because damn he was just too cute sometimes.

"Shut up."

"Make me-"

"Later guys, later." Frank butted in, with widened eyes, but I didn't get what he was talking about other than being the world's biggest hypocrite. Oh wait, the hallway. I rolled my eyes to myself like an absolute idiot but I didn't care.

"Hypocrite." I picked him up on it of course, being the great friend I am and all that shit.

"Gee's fault." Frank grinned, blaming my brother instantly like the good little boyfriend he was.

"Ahem!" Gerard mocked offense, raising his eyebrows at Frank.

"The party was great though, you know. So was the show, the goddamn show was amazing if I say so myself." Pete gloated like an idiot and I couldn't suppress a chuckle, just to piss him off of course, because he was just so damn arrogant sometimes and it was fucking adorable.

I looked up at Pete suddenly, a thought hitting my head. It was a thought I didn't want to remember - a thought that I didn't want to be a thought, to even exist at all, and all before I could stop myself three stupid all telling words stumbled between my slightly ajar lips, "does he know?"

"Know what?" Gerard stopped still, knowing immediately that this was directed at him. We sat in silence as I scowled at Pete. He didn't - Pete didn’t tell him.

No, Pete couldn't tell him, of course he couldn't tell him though, and I shouldn't expect him to tell him. I'd have to, as much as I hated to break the resurface of Bert McCracken to Gerard now he was just so happy, I was just going to have to.

"Alright, who's pregnant?" He finally said, looking between the two of us with a suspicious gaze.

We all laughed at that, and Frank pulled Gerard back into his side with a, "shush, I am."

It was my turn for the bemused expression as Frank practically gave my brother a hickey in front of my very eyes. Which was something I'd definitely not like to think about more than it was entirely necessary.

"Gerard..." Pete let out a deep sigh of breath and Gerard almost pulled away from Frank a little. "Everything is okay, just fine - don't panic, but we- well something happened last night at the show, the after party and-"

I couldn't listen to this anymore and interrupted Pete's drivel with the only two words Gerard never wanted to hear. "Bert McCracken."

And I regretted it instantly. The whole world seemed to slowly crumble away between us and from the look in Gerard's eyes, I was scared he might just drift away entirely, slowly fading into nothingness as if he was never there, the name 'Gerard Way' being nothing more than a whisper.

Gerard went as white as a ghost and his eyes widened to the size of the moon. He glanced between Pete and I before getting up and leaving, without a word without an explanation. And with the shattering of both hearts and minds in all of us.

And then the worst words trailed from Frank's lips, "who's Bert McCracken?"

He didn't know.

"Go after him, Frank." Pete let out a sigh, leaning back into me. "He needs you."

He didn't know.

-

About an hour or so later, Gerard and Frank returned, hands clasped tightly together and it was clear that both of them had been crying, but a broadened grin / borderline smirk was displayed smugly over Gerard's lips. "Hey, Mikes, get that book of yours - we've got some burning to do."

"Oh my god - you are not." His words clicked together almost instantly as I placed together as to exactly what my brother was intending to do, and somehow I wasn't entirely as opposed to the ideas as my sanity reckoned I should have been.

"Yes I am." He winked and Pete's face lit up stupidly, he too getting it within instants, and knowing Pete that probably wasn't really a good sign.

"I have this picture of Ryan Ross we could burn - it's hardly the real thing, but-"

"Yes! That will do perfectly!" Gerard exclaimed all too enthusiastically and Frank couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Gerard's hate obsession with Ryan was actually concerning me now, but I let it slide, considering I hated the guy too.

"You really do hate him, don't you?" Frank grinned, clearly far too amused by the whole situation.

"Yes, yes I do." Gerard sighed. "I'm allowed to though." i wasn't quite so sure about that but if Frank didn't seem to mind then it wasn't mine to worry about, well at least in my books anyway.

"Of course."

"Shall I get marshmallows?" I asked, changing the subject and gaining a few confused looks. "Pyromania makes you hungry okay!"

Gerard chuckled, clearly amused by the fact that I actually needed to eat, "sure. Hey, Frank, get your guitar I want you to play everyone that song-"

"No..." Frank's cheeks blushed crimson.

"It's good and you need always that guitar person at a campfire, huh?" I raised my eyebrows. Frank wrote a song? As much as I respected Frank's shyness, I did let curiosity get the better of me and accepted that I damn well just wanted to read it.

"Yeah," Pete butted in, probably just to piss off Frank, because Pete was just so awfully nice to everybody.

"I hate you all." Frank stormed off, presumably in search of said guitar. Which I wondered why was over here, not in his house, because I damn well hoped that Gerard hadn't got a guitar fetish or something because damn that's really weird.

As Pete busied himself with the Ryan Ross photo representation and the later burning of it, which most likely would end badly, but whatever, if it made Gerard happy right now, I couldn't care. I made my way over to my brother. "Hey..." I mumbled in a hushed tone, catching his attention instantly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He sighed, letting out a whole wind turbine's gust if air all at once, "it's nothing - it's just bad memories, I guess. He doesn't know me anymore - it doesn't matter."

"The thing is Pete drunkenly introduced me by my full name and then he just looked at me... I'm scared, Gee." I took a breath similar to the one Gerard just exhaled. "He remembered me - he knows who I am and I'm scared that he'll come after you or something, I don't know, just promise me you'll try your best to stay safe, yeah?" And for once, I felt like the older brother, and honestly it hurt.

"Yeah, Mikes." He met my gaze, his eyes open and sincere - trustworthy. "I promise. But don't worry; he didn't care about me then, he won't care about me now." Gerard sounded like he was convincing himself for the most part, but I didn't want to upset him further so I just let it be.

"And if he does, his ass will get kicked for sure." I reassured him, grinning a little.

"Frankie took it so well though." Gerard met my eyes. "I told him all of it and he just understood entirely..." He seemed almost shocked at the fact that Frank didn't reject him or think he was weird, when it was obvious that Frank would never even consider either of those things.

"Frank loves you, he wouldn't think of you differently regardless."

"I don't deserve him oh my god." Gerard sighed, as he grabbed an enormously big bag of marshmallows that I wasn't even aware that we owned prior to now, but whatever, I guess mum does buy the oddest of things from time to time, and maybe these have even been sat at the back of our cupboards for a year or so now.

They don't look dodgy though, so they're probably okay. And if they're not, Pete can eat them - he probably won't mind.

"Shut up, Gee, you know you do." I met his eyes, sternly.

"Frank, he's just perfect and I'm just-"

"Hey, what's all this about me?" Frank returned with the aforementioned guitar in tow, his eyebrows raised at Gerard as he walked over, a smirk laden upon his face with of course the utmost honesty.

"Just saying how perfect you are." Gerard admitted, blushing a little as his eyes trailed to the floor.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Awh." Frank planted a quick kiss on his cheek before pointing outside, thankfully before something fifty shades of grey esque ensued in front of my very eyes. "Look Pete's getting the fire going."

-

It had appeared that somehow Pete had in fact deforested the entirety of the amazon or the looks of it for the bonfire, judging by the mountainous pile of wood he was recklessly covering in gasoline before me.

"This is going to go badly." I sang in some sort of sadistic sing song voice, being very pessimistic in an optimistic manner that was just nothing short of hypocrisy.

"Yeah for Ryan Ross' face." Gerard smirked.

"Cool it, Gee." Frank murmured, and I just shook my head, still clutching Pride and Prejudice in my hand.

"And we have fire!" Pete exclaimed and I turned to see the wood pile erupting into flame with the help of one match. Shit. And here we begin - I could probably put emergency services on speed dial here, you know - just in case. We will need something by the end of this, even if it's just psychological support.

"Adios, Ryan you bastard." Pete laughed, throwing the photo onto the fire and I realised that burning exes’ photos was really a ridiculously typical teenage girl situation, which only made this all the more amusing.

"To Satan!" I yelled, throwing Pride and Prejudice onto the fire, joining in with the ridiculous pyromaniacal spirit because why not?

Why the hell not?

-

"Frankie!" Gerard tugged on his boyfriend's sleeve, "play the song now."

"Damn, alright, Frank got his guitar and tried out a few chord shapes with his fingers before getting ready, strumming a few times and then singing. And dear god he was good.

Caught staring again  
Like a deer in the headlights  
When I can't move fast enough  
I take a hit for the team

Pretty girl is blushing  
I can't tell if she's disgusted  
Laughter starts to swell  
Like someone gets the joke

Bell rings  
I make my escape  
It helps a little  
But doesn't save  
Beat down's a common thing  
It happens every day  
Maybe I'm just strange  
Cause I don't change schools  
Maybe I like the abuse  
Or maybe I'm just like you

Another confrontation  
You've got something to prove  
Your girl can't tell how tough you are  
When you beat me up in the boy's room  
I made a big mistake  
But I can't help who I like  
This may not cost my life  
But I am branded forever lame  
This was not my decision  
You were born with good looks  
And a solid right hook  
Whining makes no difference  
You bruised my eye  
It doesn't hurt at all  
One day I'll rise above  
And you will take a fall  
I may be beat today  
But I will survive  
I'll get up off the ground  
Stand tall and fight  
My eyes don't hurt at all  
I would rather die  
Than be your whipping boy

School year's almost over  
Summer is one day closer

As God is my witness  
I will never be a victim again

"Damn that's good!" I exclaimed aloud and Frank couldn't help but suppress a stupidly smug grin, and I wasn't even going to point it out to him because damn he should be proud of that.

"Told you." Gerard grinned like an idiot, or well just as stupidly proud boyfriend.

"Why didn't I get one that can serenade me?" Pete grumbled and I gave him a friendly shove, because I knew he damn well appreciated me really, or at least I hoped he did.

"I'm sure he can rustle up some poetry with that English degree though." Gerard grinned, winking at me like the cocky little bastard he was.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you." I warned him, my eyes like bullets and my gaze connecting with his, ready to fire if one more word left his lips- but then, I had a better idea entirely.

"That's mean- hey!" Gerard protested as I threw a marshmallow in his direction, my plan succeeding wonderfully.

He threw one back without hesitation. "How do you like that?"

"Damn." I mumbled, grabbing a marshmallow and reloading, however my marshmallow landed directly within Gerard's fingers. Just my luck.

"Ha." He threw it back, however it missed me entirely and by some miracle Pete managed to catch it in his mouth. Which was probably just a little disgusting to eat seeing as it had been tossed around, but it was apparent that Pete was hungry and damn well just didn't care, so I let him be.

"No eating the missiles." Frank grinned, aiming one of his own, hitting right at Pete in the eye.

"Don't mess with me, Iero." Pete snapped, not hesitating to aim one right back, just more than a little pissed off.

"Don't hit him." Gerard pouted, kissing Frank and leaving both Pete and I to pelt them with legions of marshmallows until they eventually separated.

"I hate you guys." Gerard grumbled, pulling a marshmallow out of his hair and looking at the pink lump in disgust as he held it in his palm before throwing it in my direction but missing entirely.

"I'm your brother-" I protested.

"I don't care what you say- I'm pretty sure I can still hate you. This is a real life example, take that Einstein."

"No, I mean I can just murder you in your sleep easier."

"I doubt you'll want to chance going in my bedroom again though, Mikes." He winked at me.

"Shit! Don't remind me." Pete let on a perplexed expression as Frank's face alternated between a couple of shades of deep red.

"What happened?"

"You don't want to know, Pete." I assured him, but being Pete, he did want to know and that was entirely the probably.

"I'm just saying I should leave a sign on my door whenever I'm sucking my boyfriend off in my room." Frank continued to blush like hell.

Pete laughed, "aw Mikey," he noted my terrified and forever scarred expression.

"I will never be the same again."

And with all of this, just the four of us, everything being okay, I'd nearly managed to forget about what happened at that show last night.

I say nearly, because no matter how hard I tried there was just something that I couldn't forget, something far more important than the rest of this mess as well, because of course it had to be that way.

"I don't care - we're all going to die someday. I might as well make the best of what I have left, you know."

Something just wasn’t right and I hated that I didn't know what.

I just knew that it was important, and of course that only made my head spin further. Because Pete wasn't usually like this; it was all kind of out of character, and I didn't care for some detailed psycho analysis.

I just wanted the answer to a simple question.

Why?

 

-

 

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"You should show me that bucket list of yours." I insisted, grabbing towards the list he was adding to with a thick black marker pen.

I'd been eager to see this thing forever now, and he was sat here working on it barely a metre away from me and he wouldn't let me see it. That was unfair, surely. Well Pete certainly didn't think so at the very least, especially judging by the disgruntled expression upon his face.

"Why?" He pulled the notebook closer to his chest, almost taken aback by my hardly horrific 'invasion of privacy'. If he wanted that goddamn thing to be private, then maybe he should work on it, you know, in private and not in his living room right under my curious gaze - a gaze that yearned to fucking wander.

"Maybe I want to see how many of them are about me." I grinned at him watching his bemused expression as my smirk did nothing but widen and nothing but piss him off in the process, which really wasn't all that surprising, but it certainly was amusing at the very least.

"Why would they be about you?" He matched my smirk, wondering if he could make me regret challenging Pete Wentz; of course he couldn't because he was a big fucking softie who just helpfully happened to be in love with me.

"Because you love me and all that shit." Yeah, I was pretty shit when it came to reasons, but I was hardly in the mood to care. I just wanted to see that damn fucking list of his, and give myself some priceless gloating and possibly blackmailing material, because Pete was getting far too arrogant lately.

"I do?" He winked at me, his eyes widening in mock shock just to piss me off like the lovely little bastard he is. I do hate Pete, I do, but then again there's also the matter of being in love with him and that makes my head spin like fucking crazy.

"You do." I grinned at him, watching his expression morph through almost a colour wheel of several others.

"Hmm..." He sighed, I guessed he was considering the possibility by the look upon his face or that was what I hoped at the very least. "I guess I could show you, but only if you promise not to laugh."

I met his gaze, ruining it all within an instant by and out of place and guilty giggle. Fuck. "Stop." He blushed a deep shade of red, and it was kind of cute actually... in a weird way, I guess.

"I'm sorry." I matched his blush. That probably made him a little more comfortable but I honestly didn't know - it seemed to work though. "Show me?" i pulled my face up into a grin to meet his. His eyes met me with nothing short of skepticality.

"Now?" he raised his eyebrows, still entirely unamused with the concept. "Not a fucking chance, Way - not a fucking chance."

"I hate you." It was more than obvious that I was lying, especially for someone that knew me as unfortunately as well as Pete Wentz did.

He looked at me in silence for a few seconds, Pete Wentz puppy dog eyes in action, the puppy dog eyes carrying out the uncharacteristic motion of scrutinising me, or well something that vaguely resembled scrutiny anyway. "You don't."

"Okay," I sighed, biting down on the inside of my lip and reminding myself of just how damn annoying Pete Wentz could be at the best of times. And when that annoying characteristic was paired with that goddamn adorable one, I didn't know how I managed at all.

"Maybe I don't." I admitted after a few moments, gaining what could possibly described as the world's most smug smirk from Pete; I was close to punching him - but I was kind of weak and I doubted that my efforts would really get me very far.

"Make me a sandwich." He winked at me, gesturing towards his kitchen. His smirk increased, pulling dimples into the cheeks of his face.... not his ass... not that I was checking. He was sat down, leaving me in probably the worst position to consider checking his ass out - admittedly, I did want to. There wasn't a chance I was going to tell him that though.

"Fuck off, Wentz - Fuck off." I groaned at him, ignoring his request and the possibly that it may be anything but sarcastic entirely. Because if there was a chance that I'd even consider actually getting him a sandwich, there was a chance I'd like to impale myself with a fucking nettle branch.

"Language, Way. Language." He mimicked my tone in quite possibly the world's most irritating manner. As if Pete Wentz could say something about my language, my behaviour - and here he was: the world's biggest hypocrite, but my favourite hypocrite of course.

"You can take my language and shove it up your asshole." I rolled my eyes, knowing that the moment the words left my mouth, Pete would do nothing but take them entirely the wrong way. This was nothing more than a complication I had to get used when being around Pete for extended periods of time.

"I'd rather you do it." He winked at me, his smirk increasing by the second in nothing short of a typical Pete Wentz manner.

"I can provide lube and stuff but I'd prefer your fingers you know." And this is how Pete Wentz had managed to get from asking me to make him a sandwich to asking me to finger him; neither of which I was going to do, in case you hadn't quite figured that out yet.

"Dream on, Wentz." I got up, making my way to the kitchen. I didn't specifically intend to end up in Pete Wentz's kitchen, I was just letting my legs take me wherever was away from Pete, and they really didn't do a very good job. They did a shit job if you considered the fact that Pete followed me without a moment's thought or hesitation.

"Making me a sandwich like a good boy now, are we Way?" He winked at me, leaning against his kitchen counter in the most explicit pose he could muster. Which was rather erotic actually and for that kind of behaviour within the kitchen, I began to wonder if my boyfriend was actually Delia Smith... somehow... in some way - not that I particularly wanted to think about the aforementioned at all.

"No." I raised my eyebrows, watching his pose for far too long altogether, and I really could be doing but spurring him on, which really was this opposite of my intentions. "Stop that - you look ridiculous." I broke out of my ogling trace with a haphazard insult thrown in vaguely his direction for quite possibly just the sake of it.

He chuckled, coming up behind me and placing his lips against my ear. "I'm sorry... was I distracting you?" His breath was hot against my ear and I was finding it ridiculously difficult to breathe right now - a fact he more than knew and was doing nothing less than his best to take advantage of, because well... Pete was nothing short of an asshole, but he did have an asshole which I liked awfully far too much.

"No, Pete... it's fine." I finally managed to choke out, much to his utter and awfully sadistic amusement. He liked being in control far too much; I think it was just the fact that he was overly competitive, but with someone with a personality like Pete's, you just couldn't be sure.

"Mmm..." He ran his tongue over my ear lobe, just to see how much he could really push me over the edge, because Pete loved to toy with me just so much. "You sure?" Goddamn, I wasn't sure now and I really wasn't fucking sure in the first place.

"Fuck..." I pushed back against him in what he could only boast about as pleasure. And surely, being Pete Wentz, he would do nothing but boast about it, in fact it'd probably be the only thing to pass his lips for the duration of the next few days or possibly even a week.

"Nah, I get what you really mean now." He whispered, grabbing me by the hand, entwining our fingers and giving me a quick squeeze as I remained unresponsive and almost entirely paralysed, probably out of shock, but Pete would most definitely reckon it was out of sheer arousal. I very much doubted the latter though.

"What?" I raised my eyebrows, confused as to Pete’s possible intentions with this, because he was Pete and they could be anything, and of course they would be, but from that eyebrow waggle and the next few words to leave his mouth, he made it awfully clear.

"We're going upstairs." And that was the only confirmation I needed - Pete was a sex addicted little brat, and I was stupid to ever fall in love with him, despite the fact it was something I'd never even fathom changing.

"I came over to help you with fucking tax forms that your little brain can't manage yourself and possibly even sweet talk your ego into showing me that bucket list of yours, but now you want to have sex?"

I rolled my eyes at my pathetic yet adorable excuse for a boyfriend as I found myself doing the unspeakable - considering his possibility. Even considering it was something I had reckoned would ever take place and here I was glancing back and forth between the stairs and Pete, as I reminded myself of just how nice his bed feels, how nice he feels and just how nice he could make me feel.

He chuckled, because this was simply nothing short of totally normal for him, because well Pete was nothing short of totally messed up. "What's wrong with that?" He winked at me before pulling on the most innocent smile he could muster - it didn't work.

"This was not my intention within coming here- your taxes will never get done, and you'll go into debt and have to live in a cardboard box outside Walmart!" I still wasn't at all happy with the cardboard box outside Walmart idea and not even the idea of getting into bed with Pete could change my mind, because really we did that far too often - not that Walmart thing, the sex thing. 

"Honey, I don't care about my taxes." He whispered against my ear lobe and I reckoned that was probably the most sexual way anyone has said the word 'taxes', unless there was some kind of weird accountant porno or something else that I’d really rather i didn't think about.

"That's not exactly the best attitude, is it, Pete?" I eyed him from behind my glasses, pulling my gaze back to focus on that killer smirk of his more clearly. It was cute - I did admit that, but whether or not it would actually work on me was a different matter entirely, and let me just tell you now that if you reckoned it would - you're wrong.

Very wrong, or at least my ego likes to think so, I'm not sure about my head, because I really don't think anything's functioning up there anymore simply from the fact that Pete had winked at me like two minutes ago - I have pathetic written all over me.

"Your attitude towards sex with your boyfriend is actually the definition of appalling." He tutted, rolling his eyes at me as if this was something to be scolded, and knowing Pete, he probably considered it to be that way, or at least something of the like.

Pete was kind of just awfully persuasive on the whole sex front, especially when he'd managed to get me in his own house; the fact that I was here and that his bedroom was mere feet away seemed to do nothing but encourage him greatly - not that the places we had sex were in anyway limited to the bedroom - Pete made sure of that.

"Like I said, I didn't come over to fuck you, Pete." I remained strong willed within my responses, knowing far too well than Pete could spin me around within seconds if he wanted to enough, and maybe this time, just this time I wasn't going to let him - or at least I thought so, remaining increasingly persistent with that fact, possibly just to counteract the fact that Pete was horribly and almost toxically persuasive.

This was probably not one of his best qualities, especially through my eyes, but in his books, I guessed it was nothing short of number one. Pete had a kind of messed up sense of reality, or maybe his eyes got infected with come, forcing him to see something in an incredibly sexual perspective, but I think that was something MTV made up and that things like that didn't actually happen.

"No one's allowed in my house without at least a quickie - but you're special... the two of us will go on for hours, I promise." I wasn't sure how that was in anyway a positive, but then again, this was Pete Wentz and these were words coming from Pete Wentz's lips having been processed by nothing over than Pete Wentz's terrible excuse for sanity.

"I disagree." I winked at him, remaining terribly stubborn until of course the very end, because Pete's stubbornness had clearly forced me to step up my game. I too was awfully competitive and I wouldn't have him out stubborning me, would I?

"Then let me prove myself right." He insisted, pressing me up against the wall, leaving me squirming under his grip an unable to even protest, and to be honest, Pete was too damn irrestible for me to even consider doing so.

Here goes that stubbornness, I guess.

Goddamn Pete Wentz.

-

"Pete..." I groaned out, his lips pushing me down against the mattress, and not at regretting the decisions that had led me to be here, despite what me from twenty minutes ago may have thought, because as soon as I actually got into bed with Pete, I was reminded just how good Pete was in bed and wondered why I ever put up such a fuss in the first place.

It was kind of hypnotic and probably hella fucking creepy when you thought about it excessively, but luckily for both of us, Pete had really made sure that I was entirely preoccupied with just what he was doing to me to even consider letting my mind wander at all astray.

"You can't get my name off your lips, can you, huh?" He smirked into the desperate friction between our lips, his body grinding against mine as he dominated me against the mattress of his bed. Domination seemed to be something Pete was far too good at for me likely, but unfortunately he was just so damn good I didn't even have a chance when it came down to doing something about it, and this was probably all just Pete's plan from the get go when I thought about it to be honest.

"Not a chance." My words came out as a sigh, audible barely more than a whisper as he pulled his nails down my chest, wandering dangerously down my exposed and naked body. Being naked for Pete had been nothing short of compulsory and of course the first thing on our agenda as Pete first got me into his bedroom, pulling my shirt over my head as we went, leaving me in nothing but my boxer shorts before my head even hit his pillow.

"Thought so." He pushed his words into my skin between kisses.

I treasured the feeling of his hot breath against my skin, relishing in the feeling that Pete was mine and only mine. The idea of Pete and I being exclusive really just turned me on, especially when you considered Pete's nature because he wasn't the type to be exclusive at all, leaving me with nothing but the fact that knowing I was special to Pete, and really that was more important than anything.

He ran his cold fingertips down me, reaching my slit and just letting his index finger linger there for entirely far too long to avoid the first trail of pre come leaking out onto the tip of his fingers. He grinned up at me as he felt it seep out onto his fingers, the smug expression on his face leaving me with nothing but the knowledge that Pete was a fucking tease.

"Fucker!" I moaned out, my words coming out as a barely comprehendible mess of rushed syllables, as my pre come only seemed to urge him on, causing him to apply yet more pressure to my most sensitive spot, which of course Pete had practically figured out pretty much the day he met me, and well, what a fucking day that was.

"Yeah, that's what I'm going to do - fuck ya." By now, six months into our rather dysfunctional relationship, we'd established that Pete was definitely a top, leaving my ego only slightly bruised. Pete was just damn good and not even I could bring myself to deny that.

"I'm not quite sure that's exactly what I said." I blushed a little, because it was true that Pete was fucking with me words but the fact that I had said something pretty much to that intent still stands strong and there wasn't the slightest chance that Pete would even consider letting that go easily, or ever, or even at all when I thought about it. Damn my boyfriend was a strong little shit.

"Oh but honey," he whispered, finally moving his fingers down my thigh, finding my most sensitive spots and kneading his touch into them, because he knew it make me desperate and needy; leaving me begging for more, begging for him and he loved that - he fucking loved that. "That's what I heard."

"I suggest you get that hearing of yours checked out then." I managed to push my words out haphazardly between ragged and taken aback grasps of breath, eyeing my boyfriend warily as I attempted to predict and prepare myself for his next moves, but of course this was Pete and the aforementioned was really nothing short of downright impossible.

"Oh, do you?" He raised his eyebrows, seemingly unconvinced by my attempts to convince him otherwise, as he would be. Because Pete can tell when I'm lying far too fucking easily, and it's doing nothing short of bringing me the fuck down. But he likes that, of course he does.

"Yeah, I do." I tried my best to flirt back, but in a situation as constraining and just so damn well fucking hot as this one, my efforts were nothing but well, useless, to put it politely.

"Sure thing, honey." He chuckled to himself, kneading his palms into my butt cheeks, and generally just knowing that he was in control here, and he was Pete Wentz of course he fucking loved that, knowing it sensing it from me entirely; he liked owning me and he liked teasing me more than that of course.

"Fuck..." He was going to fuck me one way or another, so I just lay back and let his stubborn ego make it happen. Not that I was really complaining of course, because fuck, Pete did know how to make me feel good - there wasn't a doubt about that at all.

"Flip over for me would you darling?" His use of pet names just melted me from the inside but when I really thought about just what he was going to do, I barely knew quite how to react, readying myself for the inevitability, for feeling him inside me, and remembering, relishing in the past memories of just how damn fucking good it was.

"Huh?" We'd never done things like this before; without him looking me in the eye and telling me just how much he loved me before - this was different, and less personal, but somehow entirely more intimate, because it was the fact that I trusted him - I trusted him with everything.

I trusted him with my exposed and weak body without even watching over him... and really trusting Pete Wentz was nothing short of a bad decision, yet it somehow ended up being the best decision I had damn well ever made.

"I want to fuck you right into this mattress, honey." He said to me as if it was the most casual request for me to pass him the salt or something of the like. It was an unexpected request yet one I would do nothing more than comply with without a doubt; I would put up a little fight though at the start, maybe just for entertainment purposes, or maybe because I wanted to kid myself that I wasn't a total whore, but these last few months without my virginity had left me very closely acquainted with sex and of course the ins and outs of Pete's body.

"You- You do?" I stammered out, almost choking on my words, which didn't fail to make him chuckle at all, and of course imagine me choking on something else entirely. This whole situation was more than amusing him in fact, because it was a far too well known fact that making little, dorky, not quite virgin bitches uncomfortable was a Pete Wentz speciality.

"Yeah, honey." He winked at me, eyeing my exposed chest once again, taking it in with one deep gasp of air that didn't at all fail to render me more than slightly uncomfortable. "You'll get what you signed up for."

"I came over for taxes." I reminded him, because damn in a state like this who didn't need reminding of the domestic necessities they were ignoring and constantly pushing to the back of their minds in a shitty failed attempt to somehow get out of doing them entirely?

"And you're staying for sex, yes." He reminded me, not that I really needed reminding, Pete making the aforementioned fact more than obvious with the way he was pinning me down against his mattress, and raking his fingers down every inch of my body.

"Remind me that I hate you." I grumbled as his hands moved downwards, presumably starting work on a project I would not be opposed to at all. Pete was just really fucking good at this shit and I was kind of both jealous and grateful of that fact, because damn I wanted to be able to fucking dominate him like that, but he was my fucking boyfriend and this was a gift, a bonus - something I wouldn't dare pass up for anything.

"Not a chance." He chuckled, the corners of his mouth twisting up into that nothing short of typical, Pete Wentz smirk. Goddamn, this guy shouldn't be allowed to be anywhere near this fucking attractive.

I giggled, sighing and readjusting myself, my front pressed into Pete’s mattress, and my face practically buried into his pillow as he requested, because I was a good little bitch sometimes, when I was far too turned on to even consider protesting, and Pete Wentz sure knew how to get me into a position like that - seriously, he had a fucking PhD in the matter.

"Comfortable?" He asked, running two fingers down the joining between my upper thigh and butt cheek. I shivered into his touch, causing him to only press on harder, increasing the stretch and speed of the looped journey, all too piss me off into a state of utter submission, and soon he had me biting back a whimper, but of course I would never even fathom of admitting this to him any time soon, or well at all.

"Not really." I grumbled at him for nothing other than the sake of being a little bitch. I think I liked being a little bitch, maybe because it pissed him off, and he got really fucking hot when he was pissed off and he would not hesitate to push me down against that mattress and fuck me until I screamed. Which was something I was far too keen on for my own sanity's sake and this again would be something Pete would never be told, leaving me to drop not quite so subtle hints for him to figure it out himself.

"Tough shit, honey." He grinned at me, like the little bitch he was. Because we two little bitches fitted together far too perfectly, and two little bitches made a stubborn and badly working, frustrating team, that had good sex so the latter really made up for everything else, almost causing the former not to matter at all... and then again there was the fact that I was in love with him... yeah – that kind of made my head hurt.

"Don't call me honey." I groaned at him, arching my hips into his touch in a way that did nothing in my favour when it came to the smirk across his face. Not that I was complaining that much, because fuck this was good, and I say that much because well, what's my life without the odd bit of bitch whining? Yes, rational, and we don't like that at all.

"Princess." He corrected himself in quite possibly the worst manner, almost as if he'd set this up entirely to piss me off or do nothing short of that anyway. Princess was seemingly the worst nickname he could ever come up with for me, and of course both his favourite, as things always seemed to work out that way with someone like Pete Wentz.

He was cute, but princess was a fucking annoying name goddamn, and it was simply pissing me off that I had nothing equally as annoying to counteract him with. I'd have to work on that for sure.

"That is in no way better." I reminded him, rolling my eyes as my stupid excuse for a boyfriend practically pressed his member up against mine.

"I know." He reminded me, not as if I needed reminding though. I was pretty well acquainted with the fact that Pete loved to piss me off, and he loved to expect the fact that I just wouldn't fucking care - unfortunately for him, I did.

"Princess." The name rolled off his tongue, seconds after, interrupting my thoughts and leaving me to glare into those sparkling brown eyes, that I'd grown to both fucking love and despise in an awful and cluttered mix of messed up emotions that I'd rather not to even prod with a ten foot pole.

I sighed, just shoving my face back down into the pillow as his fingers ran up closer, ready to push me apart.

It was certain perplexing as to how we'd transitioned steadily from taxes, to sandwich making, to fingering, to weird sex talk, bitchy insults, and now this - the part the makes it all worth it: Pete showing me just how much he loves me, and not by words of course. Pete isn't quite the man of words - he prefers to use other methods to get his meaning across, but it's all good, because Pete's awfully experienced when it comes to those 'other' methods, as I know very much by now.

"I think you're addicted to sex, Pete." I admitted against the brush of lube and one finger inside of me, searching for that one spot that was going to accomplish nothing short of making me scream, especially when Pete hit it right, which he had developed an awfully perfect habit of doing so.

"I think I am, Mikes." He grinned to himself, continuing to move that finger around inside me, as I adjusted to the awkwardness of one single finger, but it wasn't so bad anymore as Pete insisted upon this happening far too often, but I guess practice had it pay offs at the very least.

"I should probably take you into a sex rehab or something." I mused aloud, finding it perfect how we were just having another dumb conversation as if he wasn't sliding his second finger into me right now. We must certain didn't have the most conventional of relationships to say the least, but there was no other way I’d rather have it.

The second finger was a little painful at first, but Pete was getting there now, nearly hitting my prostate, so the pain would be replaced with pleasure shortly, especially when he was inside me himself. That was the best part and i wasn't going to lie when I said I was looking forward to that part just a little more than I should.

"I don’t think there's such a thing as sex rehab, Mikes." He chuckled ta me, which was certainly a weird thing considering he was going to be deep and hard inside me within what I hoped would be seconds, but with someone Pete enjoyed teasing people so much, you could just really never be sure. "You made that shit up for sure-"

"Fuck!" His words were cut off as finally both his fingers pushed against that spot. That spot. And fuck it was really worth it, as it was of course, every time.

"I guess I found it then." He chuckled aloud, pulling both fingers out and lining himself up, all too eager for this, but I couldn't complain, because if he was eager, I was desperate.

"Damn just hurry the fuck up and get inside me." I snapped, whining against the emptiness inside of me.

I hated the painful moments that Pete managed to prolong as physically possibly when he'd just pulled his fingers out of me and had decided that he'd done quite enough prep and was now ready to leave me hanging as he just hovered himself at my entrance, all in favour of nothing more than pissing me off to the biggest extent he could possibly manage.

"Well if someone isn't a little whore today." He mumbled under his breath in probably the most affectionate tone those words could be spoken in - it kind of amazed me actually, but then again this was Pete Wentz and it was exactly this kind of shit that was this guy's forte. This didn’t concern me quite as much as it should if I’m honest.

"Fuck off." I looked up at him, just to check that he wasn't genuinely offended, not that he would be, because well he's Pete Wentz and he doesn't make a particular habit of caring, but I wanted to make sure at the very least.

"Calm down, I'm nearly ready." He muttered in my directions, dragging his thighs down mine more than it was entirely necessary, creating just enough friction to get me frustrated enough to start biting back a moan as I laid face first into his pillow.

The silence; the waiting - it was far too long entirely, and far too long for Pete to be anything but toying with me. I mumbled something inaudible even to myself into Pete's pillow as I finally felt his tip brush against me.

"You ready, honey- princess- damn, whatever?" He stumbled out and I was glad to see that this was at least affecting him in the slightest and that this porn star demeanour of his did tear down sometimes.

"As if I'm not." I snapped at him, my body begging for him inside me, pushing against that spot again and again. He would of course comply within mere seconds (if he didn't, I would fucking make him) and then this wait would all be fucking over and the emptiness would be replaced by him hard and deep inside of me - something I'd been more than longing for.

"Don't get cocky, because I can stop and just leave you here whenever I want, honey." He winked at me, toying with me or at least I very much hoped so because if he wasn't, I was fucking close to slapping him right across the face, because for that pissy bitch attitude of his he damn well deserved it, and maybe for my similar attitude, I deserved a slap too, but I didn't care as long as he finally ended this the way I wanted.

"Not that you would though." I pushed my words out cautiously on the slim off chance that he was in fact not playing with me, and was actually nothing short of an actual class A bastard.

"What makes you so sure?" He smirked, running his fingers down my back, dragging his fingernails into my skin as he got half way down, releasing a series of moans from my lips; moans neither of us would ever like to forget, and in my case, the actions that caused them, even less so.

I chuckled to myself at the mass of reasons. "A - You love me. B - You're a sex addict, especially lately - you don't stop-"

"Whatever." He sighed out, pushing halfway into me as I let out a groan against the stretching, because even excessive late night Breaking Bad sessions lately hadn’t gotten me entirely accustomed to odd sensation of having Pete push into me.

It was a fucking good sensation though, especially once things had gotten started - everything was worth it in the end, especially when someone like Pete Wentz was involved and let me tell you, in this case, he was more than involved.

"I said I was going to fuck you into this mattress and believe me, Mikes - I don't disappoint." He chuckled at me, revelling in the situation and I almost began to wonder if Pete actually got high off of sex, before I realised that that was a subject I'd really rather not think about.

"I will make you scream, and in fact, we're not stopping until I do, so I'd keep that whore mouth of yours open wide- or not, depending on how much you want me." Shit. Fuck... Why had I picked this one - him out of all the illegible dating criteria, why had my affections fallen upon Pete Wentz? Ah, yes, that comic store - Gerard was of course to blame, as usual. I was a ‘great’ brother, and he was a worse one, if that were even possible.

"Fuck." I moaned at simply the thought of it; the thought of Pete Wentz slamming into me, fucking me against the mattress and releasing so many precious little moans from those lips of mine.

"I'm going to go in hard now, so tell me if you want me to stop." He met my eyes with the end of his sentence.

I nodded. "I will."

"You trust me?"

"I trust you. You love me?"

"Of course I do."

And with that he pushed fully in, hitting right on my prostate and before I could let out a moan, he had pulled himself back out again only to thrust back down onto that spot, emitting a noise of a similar nature.

"Fuck, you're beautiful." He moaned, his fingers gripping into my hipbones as he pushed himself back in, continuously picking up pace as we went along.

"Fuck- Fuck-" was all I could muster between my lips before he occupied them with a moan, as he hit that spot once again, doing terrible things to my erection, which was surely leaking a little against his mattress by now. Not that either of us seemed to mind - well I certainly didn't: this was Pete's mattress and therefore his mess to clean up, so I wouldn't even have to think about this leakage after tonight.

"Look at you all helpless, and all mine." He licked a strip down my spine, causing me to jolt backwards into him, my hips curving up allowing him to get at me with a better and much deeper angle. Fuck.

"Ah fuck-" I choked out between moans, barely able to keep my cool with Pete at me quite like this. "Like that yes, like that!" i exclaimed, pushing my hips up so I was almost on all fours for him - the idea of that surely entertaining his imagination more than suitably.

"Fuck." He moaned, slamming into me with all his might. "I am going to come, Mikes-"

"fuck-" He couldn't warn me, before I came against his heels with one final thrust. "God..." I looked down at the sticky mess I'd created. It was a thing of beauty; a thing of passion, a thing of love, our love - it was us... somehow this sticky mess on Pete's sheets was everything the two of us are. Somehow, somehow it fitted, somehow it worked, somehow it was beautiful, but mostly it was just a come stain I was thankful that I didn't have to clean up.

"Fuck, fuck, you beautiful little whore, fuck." He panted out between deep breaths, pulling himself out of me and pushing me down onto my knees. "You want to sort out my little problem... Breaking Bad style?" Goddamn this cheesy fucking motherfucker I'd somehow managed to fall in love with- well with a smile like that it wasn't a particularly hard feat to accomplish.

I didn't need any further incentive than simply the feeling of my lips around him, pulling his tip into my mouth and sucking until it felt like my cheeks couldn't fit more perfectly around him. I love him: I really fucking do. I just hadn't quite found the best way to show him that yet, but believe me, I was more than working on it.

"Nnnh...” He choked out as I ran my teeth down him, "Mikes- Fuck-" I readied myself as he let himself go inside my mouth, leaving me with little choice but to swallow him all up, before falling back down onto his mattress with a heavy sigh and a grin from Pete.

"Damn, that was good." I sighed, pushing my head into the crook of his neck, simply enjoying his presence and the steady and reassuring rise and fall of his chest as he let in great breaths of air.

"Yeah." Pete's mouth turned up into a small smile. "You want me to make you a sandwich now?"

I raised my eyebrows, wondering whether that was some obscure euphemism for something, because with Pete, things tended to be. "I didn't think I deserved one."

"With a mouth like that, I think you deserve everything."

-

"We... should stop." Pete said into nothingness, his words coming out like a ghost in the room.

"What?" My eyes widened, pulling him closer into me on the sofa where we lay, sipping coffee and spooning and not doing Pete’s taxes. He glanced at his taxes every so often, willing them to magically do themselves. I probably should have been motivating him, but I was tired out from earlier, so really it was his fault.

"We need to stop." He repeated, but still bringing the words no further meaning, which did very little in the subject of clarifying the situation yet by some god forsaken look in his eyes he seemed to think this sufficed.

"I- I- don't understand..." I choked out, almost spilling my coffee everywhere, which probably wasn't for the best, as I'd already stained Pete's furnishings once tonight.

"We 'us' needs to stop." He clarified, his eyes never quite meeting mine for reasons I could probably suspect. Guilt, quite possibly. Pete was never good with guilt, or suppressing pathetic emotions for that matter, or sexual desires - he wasn't good at that either, which was quite blindingly obvious.

"Why?" We sat in silence before I could finally push one scared pathetic little word out.

"Because it hurts to do this to you."

"To do what?" My mind ran to thousands of possibilities all at once. "Are you cheating on me... again?" Again. That shouldn't be a word that belonged it a sentence like that, but it did because Pete and I didn't have the most conventional of relationships, and Patrick Stump was an event from the past now, so maybe it didn't just matter all that much.

"No... Mikes... I wouldn't do that... again." He sighed out, leaning back into me, leaving me to suspect nothing but this could be far worse.

"I feel guilty." He confessed into nothingness, and my stomach did somersaults over my little superstition regarding just how badly confessions seemed to go for me in the past, and I just felt like this could be nothing more than a simply drastic one, especially considering Pete's grave tone of voice. I wasn't even aware that someone like him could sound quite so solemn.

"Why? Come on, Pete, just tell me what you've done - we can fix this and I promise you that it isn't as bad as you think it is." Or at least I hoped things would be so, but considering the fact that this was Pete, I didn't have a clue as to how bad what he'd possibly done could be. In fact, my mind couldn't even begin to imagine the array of possibilities that breached my mind.

He chuckled at that, flaring his nostrils a little subconsciously, "but it is, bad, Mikes. It’s worse than you could possibly imagine - whatever you're thinking of right now it's at least ten times worse than that-"

"Alright, who have you killed? Gerard can help us hide the body." I grinned at him, and unfortunately I probably wasn't joking as much as I should be when it came to the last part. Gerard was kind of messed up, okay.

He chuckled at that, which was certainly fucking good as Pete hadn't chuckled in at least five minutes and I was getting seriously concerned and was considering ringing the police or identity fraud or someone or something or Gerard- yeah, probably just Gerard.

"None, although I'd very much like to kill Ryan Ross, and I'm very sure your scarily expertised in body hiding brother would have nothing but the utmost joy in helping me, but things aren't like that."

I let out a sigh, almost frustrated with him now, "Pete please just tell me, I can't help you and we can't figure this out until I know what's going on." Pete certainly did win pissiest bitch of the year award without a single doubt.

"You can't help me, though." And then he started crying and the seriousness of the situation really hit me then, because Pete wasn't kidding or being overdramatic with anything that left his lips.

Pete and tears was an experience I was inexperienced with and one I most certain did not like, because Pete was the guy that was strong and full of jokes even if they were more than inappropriate at times and to see him cry surely meant the whole world was imploding - fuck was the whole world imploding? I doubted the fact, but really I wasn't sure, Pete looked like the kind to have all kinds of messed up acquaintances, so surely this wasn't quite that impossible at all.

"Why? Why not... why can't I help you, because even if you're certain of that, even if everyone in this damn world is certain of that, there's nothing that's going to stop me from trying." I promised him, pressing my words firmly into reality as I emphasised them in a piss poor attempt to get Pete's ego to look past them and for one single damn word that left my lips to matter.

"Why?"

"It's called being in love, dumbass."

He chuckled at that, almost sadistically, his head lolling back and his eyes averting mine, making way for his next few words to tumble out. "You should stop being in love with me."

"I don't think I can, because if I could, believe me, Wentz, I would have been running as fast as I can from the moment I met you." I grinned at him to show that I really did love him and had zero intentions of actually doing the aforementioned.

"That sounds awfully cliché." He pointed out, his eyebrows stuck in a permanent kind of half raised position which I had to admit was kind of cute.

"What and you crying into my arms while I tell you I love you, isn't?" I teased, maybe just to lighten the mood - it didn't entirely work, but then again, I never entirely expected it to - my task being a failure from the very start.

He shrugged, clearly just as unamused as I had predicted, which was both awfully disheartening and terribly predictable, so really, I should've seen that shit coming to be honest.

"Mikes..." He trailed out my name, his eyes meeting mine with a certain shades hidden amongst the shades of brown little tiny little sailboats lost out at sea.

"Yeah?" My response came out fragile; a breath upon air, soon to be ignored upon the surface tension that was almost tight enough to slice my neck.

"I'm... I'm going to die."

"What?" I spat the words out like a dodgy grape, not quite able to comprehend the words that had just hit my ears, leaving me to gawp at Pete in a kind of off-putting manner for what felt like several minutes.

"Hey Mikes," he intertwined our fingers, his voice chancing from a hoarse raspy whisper and into something calm and soothing as if I was the one in trouble. "Did I ever tell you about how I had leukaemia as a kid?" I nodded, sensing the direction this was going in and not liking it at all, and then doing my best to an a complete 180 degree turn around in the opposite direction for any other possible possibility.

"Yeah, I remember that - you're strong for overcoming it, you know." I met his eyes, our gazes linking for one moment too many for this to be anything easy.

"Obviously not strong enough." His words came out all at once, knocking my heart right out my chest; his words a baseball bat and my heart made of glass.

"What?"

"It's back."

"Shit."

"I have a brain tumour, Mikes."

"Shit."

"I'm going to die, Mikes."

"Shit."

"Will you say something other than that?" He finally snapped, clearly not satisfied with my inability to even breathe anymore. Which he really couldn't blame me for because he's my fucking boyfriend and he's got a fucking brain tumour. Fuck.

"Shi- sorry." I buried my face into his shoulder, "I just fuck- what are we supposed to do."

He's going to die. 

He’s going to die.

I shuddered as it began to sink in, enough oxygen finally getting into my brain for his words to begin to mean something; something i didn't want to think about or even remind myself of the existence of but it was a something nonetheless and it was a damn fucking real something - a something even I couldn't avoid.

"I don't know, Mikes. I don't know," he began playing with my hair, twirling the light brown locks around his fingers in a stupidly soothing manner, relaxing me far too much considering the matter at hand - the matter that he was going to die and there was nothing I could even try to do, because this was out of my control - this was brain cells gone to shit and I wasn't a doctor let alone a brain surgeon. I knew jack shit about this and in fact the only thing I knew was that Pete was going to die.

"I feel guilty because I can't just- we can't just being knowing that one day I will die, one day soon and then it'll just be you." He sighed into nothingness. "There'll just be no us - you'll wake up and I won't and then there won't be an ‘us’ anymore. I can't imagine that - I don't want you to. Get away whilst it hurts the least; hate me if you have to, I just don't want you to hurt at all, Mikes."

"Fuck, that... fuck..." I sighed against his arm, pulling every part of him against me as if he might suddenly disappear, which had now become a far too plausible possibility. "I need you now the most, Pete."

"Me too, Mikes. Me too." He assured me, his voice raspy and strained - probably from the crying. That hurt to think about. So I didn’t.

"How long have you known?" I asked, my brain wandering into spaces it shouldn't, but really I just couldn't help myself at all.

"When I fell down the stairs... they did a brain scan to check for concussion, and they uhh… found something else entirely-."

"That long?" I exclaimed, astounded that he hadn’t fucking told me - not that I wanted to know, because fuck this really proved that I didn't. Well, I was glad I knew at the very least, but that was at face value - at face value you couldn't see all the different parts of my brain slowly exploding at different set intervals.

"Yeah." He breathed out in a heart-burstingly sad manner.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I couldn't - you didn't need to worry about this, okay?" He met with those stupidly soft Pete Wentz eyes that melted me from the inside out within seconds.

"I suspected something was up already, Pete." I admitted, drawing out far too much breath all at once. "What are the chances of... survival?" The last word was barely audible because maybe I didn't want it to be real and somehow letting it out as nothing more than a mere whisper pushed it back into the dimension of pretend.

"I don't know exactly- but, it isn't looking good... fuck, I'm getting bald, Mikey. I look all ugly." He gestured to the beanie a top his head and I pulled my lips into a small smile because all of that was superficial to me, because I was in love with him and despite the fact it was probably the worst thing considering our situation, it was the only thing that really seemed to matter.

"You look beautiful no matter what." I assured him, pushing back the tears as I snuggled up into my boyfriend who I just wasn't going to let die. I was far too stubborn - I'd snatch him out of deaths grip if I damn well had to.

"I'm going to die, Mikes-"

"I won't let you goddamn- I'm going to pray for you every night and you are not going to die, you hear me?" I met his eyes, looking at him sternly as if this was somehow within his control, and dear god I wished it was, because if things were so, we could simply wash all this shit away, but we couldn't - things didn't work like that.

He chuckled, his voice barely audible and light like a whisper. "Are you going to sing hallelujah for me too?"

"I can’t sing for the life of me, but I would if I could." I promised him.

"Hum then, hum hallelujah." He grinned at me.

"I will. Badly." I grinned back at him, our noses breaching the gap between our tear stained faces. I needed to get close to him, just to remind myself that he was there, he was still alive right now and that mattered more than anything ever had before.

"Just off the key of reason."

"Yeah, I like that." 

He chuckled, a tear rolling down his cheek only to be wiped away by my thumb; maybe more in an attempt just to hold him as opposed to genuinely wipe away his tears... "I like you."

And then his lips were on mine.

"I'll hum hallelujah, just off the key of reason." I whispered to him as we finally pulled apart, and Pete buried his head in my shoulder.

"Don't leave me tonight."

"I won't - not ever." I promised him, and it was a promise I'd keep.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

-

"Mikes are you okay?" Gerard waltzed into the kitchen, noticing my figure curled up on the sofa in a foetal position between several cushions and an old blanket.

"Mmm..." I let out a heavy sigh, watching as Gerard switched on the kettle, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips - he was thinking about Frank - he had to be. I envied just how happy he was, just how perfectly happy he was in his life right now, because to him it didn't even matter that Bert McCracken was back in town, because he has his Frank... always.

I wouldn't have my Pete for much longer.

My Pete? Since when has he been 'mine'? That just sounds kind of obsessive and awfully creepy if I'm honest.

"You're not are you?" I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t notice or turn around, but with my luck, of course he did.

"Don’t even try to lie to me now, Mikes." He raised his eyebrows. "I saw that."

I shrugged, "I'm just upset, I guess." There we go - understatement of the year, but I didn't want to heap this all on Gerard - he shouldn't take this all at once, and it wasn't his problem to worry about at all. Helena, our grandmother's death had affected him far too much for my liking and I didn't want to go through another cancer death again, but most importantly, I didn't want Gerard to.

"What's he done now?" Gerard said with a sigh, raising his eyebrows as me with a sigh.

"What? Who?"

"Pete... duh." He passed me a perplexed expression as he grabbed his mug of coffee and curled up beside me.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Frank today?" My words ended up sounding far more rude and uninviting than I'd ever intended, but if there was one this Gerard could get offended with, it wouldn't be this - he's put up with me for two decades, so surely he's heard worse than this coming from my lips.

"Trying to get rid of me, Mikes?" he winked at me, thankfully, his tone entirely jokey.

"No, I'm just asking - politely, as you do, you know." I sighed, desperately trying to force the subject away from the cause of my sadness, because those were some thoughts I really didn't want hanging around in Gerard’s head.

"You're changing the subject." Damn my fucking smart brother! For the world's most anti-social person, Gerard sure did know how to read someone's emotions right off their face- or was I just being obvious? I, too being an anti-social human, I found it hard to tell.

"Am I?" I played innocent, despite the fact that I very much knew it would hardly work on Gerard at all. I pulled it for the sake of trying, or maybe just pissing him off enough in order for him to drop the subject entirely - I didn't know by this point.

"Yeah, Mikes, you are." He winked at me, pulling himself and that hot mug of coffee dangerously closer to me. "Just tell me what's wrong, goddammit!" He chuckled, looking up at me with those big hazel eyes.

"Pete." I let one word tumble out and it was entirely one word too many.

"I guessed that, yeah." He grimaced at me, gesturing for me to continue in an entirely indiscreet manner. "Continue?" He went for a verbal approach when his gestures reaped no rewards.

"He... just is..."

"Yeah, I know you have an English degree but honestly there's no need to be poetic around your idiot of a brother who still lives in the basement so I'd advise you just spit it out already."

"What?" His harsh tone of voice rendered me somewhat taken aback.

"Yes what... did Pete do?"

"It's what not he's done, it's just what happened to him - don't blame him... it’s not his fault at all, not really... it just happened and now we're stuck in this mess..."

"Is that some bollocks excuse he gave you for cheating on you, because if it, tell him seriously needs to step up his game because that shit was pathetic-"

"Gerard, you're not okay either, are you?"

"Why would you say that?" He snapped back, almost horrified with the fact that I'd even dared to ask and considering Gerard’s obsessive need for privacy and insecurity within that little head of his, I guessed I wasn't quite that far off.

"Look at how you’re acting - it's kind of obvious, Gee." I met his gaze and I watched as his head stooped into a momentarily nod.

"Goddamn I was trying so fucking hard to be okay and tell myself that this was nothing and that this didn't affect me at all, but it did because really, I was nothing short of a whole damn lot of hopeless pretending. I just... fuck..." His words cut off in favour of deep heavy breaths, which I wasn't all that opposed to, considering the fact that his need to breathe was kind of necessary. "I saw Bert again today."

"Oh." I let out a heavy sigh similar to Gerard's. "Shit." The last word tumbled out in a funny tone of voice not failing to make Gerard chuckle just a little.

"Yeah..." Gerard sighed.

"He saw me. We made eye contact and he addressed me by name and fuck I panicked because I was in the shop getting coffee and Frank wasn't there with me or anyone and there wasn't even the cashier I vaguely know at work today and it was just us so I fucking ran and he followed me out the shop and as I was about to drive off he got in my fucking car with me and told me not to be scared of me and that he wanted to get to know me again and he put his number in my phone and told me to call him and just fuck- I'm not going to call him not at all, but I feel like I kind of have to... like he's going to be real fucking angry if I don't.... fuck, Mikey, fuck..." He let out far too much air as he finished his explanation.

"God..." I let out a sigh - I could never even fathom letting the weight on my shoulders onto Gerard's now he has this shit to deal with, because Bert should never be something Gerard has to deal with ever again and this is all just unfair, and honestly it'd be even more unfair to let him have to worry about another cancer death close to him. "Does Frank know?"

"No." He shook his head, and apparently his arms too because some hot coffee splashed onto my legs underneath his mug.

"Are you going to?" I asked, my words coming out cautiously as I considered the fact that somehow this might be a touchy topic - I mean the Frank thing. The whole ordeal with Bert was touchy without question.

"I don't know - I just don't want to worry him with it because he's got other shit to think about and I care about him and this isn't his shit to worry about... you know? You don't get it do you?"

"No, Gee. I really do." He raised his eyebrows at that, obviously in skepticality. "That's exactly how I feel about telling you about what's happened with Pete."

"I want to know - I want to care. It's already affecting me just by knowing that something's wrong." He met my eyes. "Tell me, Mikes."

"That's exactly how Frank feels then - tell him about Bert."

"No, he doesn't know anything's wrong so he won't worry or suspect - everything can just be okay, you know?" I shook my head clearly to Gerard's widened eyes.

"I suspected that shit pretty quickly, gee and I don't even know you like Frank does - he'll know something's up before you even speak - just tell him. He'll probably give Bert a nice kick where the sun don't shine as well."

"I don't want Bert to hurt him though, and Bert will, because Bert wants to ruin everything for me... I can just tell by that look in his eyes."

"Frank's your boyfriend - Bert will give him shit regardless of whether or not Frank sorts him the fuck out, and actually if Frank does, Bert might even calm down a little - it's unlikely, but if Frank hits him hard... well..." The corners of my lips twitched up into a smirk.

"Yeah... I'll go call him." Gerard sighed, putting his coffee mug down on the coffee table and not the sofa for one - I felt like getting up and applauding him on the spot, but I realised that would probably freak him out just a little. "Wait-"

"Tell me what's happened with you and Pete."

I let out a sigh because I'd have to tell him.

"It's to do with Pete and only Pete." I kind of eased him into this, wondering if maybe he could just guess and then I wouldn't even have to say it aloud but making Gerard guess something like this could have some awful side effects.

"Continue..." He waved his hand in some probably subconscious hand gesture.

"He... he's ill." I choked out the first part of it.

"Would he like a cup of tea?" Gerard winked.

"A little bit iller than that."

"Oh..." Gerard's face fell. "How ill?"

"He's going to die... Gee..." The words fell out in a scratchy tone that I doubted was barely audible, but Gerard heard me.

"Fuck..."

"He's got- got a brain tumour..." The words continued to fall like word vomit now, and as careful as I was around the subject for Gerard's sake, I knew I was going to do nothing short of bawl my eyes out within a few minutes.

"Oh... fuck…" Helena.

"He told me today." I choked out a sob. "He's going to fucking die, Gee."

"Hey Mikes, I promise you something - I'm not going to let him."

"Huh?" I raised one eyebrow in confusion.

"Even if he's fucking on his last breath I will be fucking pumping oxygen into him, because he isn't going to fucking die, okay?"

"Okay." I breathed out. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because he makes you happy." I met his eyes. "You're my brother and I don't want to ever see you unhappy." His face turned up into a grin. "That's a promise, Mikes."

 

-

 

"What's the fucking point?" His words lashed out at me as if each syllable was laced with a dozen tiny whips, all poisoned and aimed in none other than my direction.

"Pete, please-" I begged in response, hoping my boyfriend would somehow manage to see sense amidst his disillusioned head, but considering both his current and general state of stubbornness, I really doubted that would be the case.

"Fuck off, Mikey - fuck off." He didn't even meet my gaze, before turning away from me without another word.

I inhaled a gust of fresh air as I watched Pete storm off into the woods - the rational part of me was simply assuring my fast paced heartbeat that my boyfriend was simply in need of some time to himself and that I should just leave him be, unfortunately, I was never really that much off a rational person.

I found myself wondering as both to how and why we'd ever ended up in a situation like this - it just felt kind of fairy-tale at the moment, and there was still this childish hope at that back of my mind that I could just click my fingers and this whole world would somehow disappear, bringing me back into a reality that was so much more plausible- well, in my mind anyway.

A reality where I was still a virgin and I'd never met Pete Wentz- and... yeah maybe I'd rather not click my fingers, after all. Dear god, I am just pathetic.

"Pete!" I let out a sigh before I called after him, leaves crunching underfoot as I picked up my pace into a brisk jog in hopes of catching up with my unfortunately temperamental boyfriend. He was kind of like a toddler mid tantrum, deserting his 'mother'- had I just referred to myself as my own boyfriend's mother... well that got weird far too quickly.

"Fuck off-" He called after me, noticing my increase in pace and the rapidly diminishing distance between us. I concluded that he was in fact quite far from being my child as I really hoped that toddlers weren't quite as closely acquainted with the word 'fuck' as Pete was.

I grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back around to face me and holding him securely within my grasp. Pete struggled of course, and I knew by now that he was stronger than me, meaning I had to get my words out and convince him not to kill me within the next ten seconds or so. Which would be easier said than done, of course. It, however, was in no way going to stop me from trying though.

"I said fuck-" he repeated himself, only for me to butt in before he could protest once again, as he would do, being Pete Wentz, of course.

"I'm saying you're being irrational and kind of dumb actually." I met his eyes, praying I hadn't somehow managed to have offended him - thankfully, I hadn't. Pete seemed to have very high defence walls when it came to insults, but I guessed he had to in order not to be hypocritical considering the shit he comes out with.

"I'm going to die, Mikes, how the fuck does it matter?" The words hit me like a tidal wave of course, making me stop for a second and just wonder how the fuck Pete could just come out with this shit, just talk about it as if it was the expected- except, he hadn't at all accepted it all, and somehow in the mess up head of his, this was his way of doing so.

"It matters because I still fucking care- somehow despite this arrogant cock you're being I still give a hella of a damn about your pissy little ass-" My insults were really not at all up to scratch, causing an unexpected grin to break Pete's walls down within a mere instant and for our eyes to meet in an unspoken sign of peace.

"You love my ass though." His grin widened into a smirk as he took a step forward, bridging the gap between us like it had never even been there; the two of us in some unspoken and somehow mutual contract signifying that we really just couldn't live without one another.

"I do, I do, Pete." I confirmed, letting him have this one, because despite the stubborn heart we'd grown to share, it was probably best to always just let Pete win, because he was fucking Pete Wentz and I didn't want a taste of his idea of revenge at all.

"So can we just talk about this, like civilised guys? Instead of just running off into some godforsaken woodland leaving me trailing after you, and god Pete, you know I can't fucking run!" I ranted to him, mock panting a little to accentuate my point unnecessarily, yet of course it was just a requirement around Pete Wentz – our whole relationship being of course entirely unnecessary at a first glance, yet really it was the backbone of the both of us.

"Fatass." He smirked to himself, far too proud of the mediocre insult he'd just pulled out of his ass on a whim.

"If you say so - you fucked me though, multiple times." I reminded him, not like he'd ever forget - seeing as he was Pete, and these were probably something like his most treasured memories or something just equally as creepy. Somehow Pete made creepy work, and I still needed to beg him for those trade secrets.

"So did you." He reminded me, even though they were of course treasured memories, along with the reminder that I was in fact nothing short of the world's biggest hypocrite.

"Yes, well done, it does appear you have a brain." My words reeked of unwelcomed sarcasm and he made no hesitation in raising his eyebrows as if they were built automatically onto some sort of mechanism.

"Harsh."

I shrugged it off, unfazed by his observation regarding my slightly controversial opinion regarding Pete's grey matter and well, his lack of it, actually. "Are we going to talk about this then?" He looked at me blankly, confused or maybe just ignorant, not quite wanting me to be talking about what I had to be talking about - the only words on my lips.

He remained looking blankly at me though, and it was kind of unnerving so I ended up elaborating; the elaboration took place in its simplest form, with two little words that shattered both our worlds and our relationship pretty much in two. "Your operation."

"No, we're not going to talk about it, because I'm not going to have it!" He screamed out his response like he’d planned it, and honestly I wouldn't even be all that surprised if he had.

"Why the fuck not, Pete?" I just didn't get it all; it was almost like he wanted to die, and I just couldn't have that - things wouldn't go like that... I wouldn't let them, in fact, I just wouldn't fucking let them.

"What happened to 'civilised', Mikes?" he rolled his eyes at me, walking off and sitting underneath a nearby tree. I made no hesitation regarding the matter of joining him, much to his annoyance but in my head it was most definitely for the best.

"Your stupidity was what happened to civilised." I drew out a gasp of breath as I let the situation lap over me like cool ocean waves, except this matter was in no way cool or calming, and in fact it was very much to the contrary. "This is your best chance of survival, Pete." I met his gaze, trying to convince him that I was in fact the one making the most sense here. He didn't seem to get it though.

"Yet I could die instantly in the operation, and there's quite a good chance of that." He glared at me, biting down furiously on his bottom lip in either a badly hidden display of nerves or a bucket load of pent up anger - I couldn't differentiate between the two with someone like Pete Wentz.

"There's a one in three chance you could die in the operation and there's a seventy percent chance you'll die otherwise." I met his gaze with the best stern glare I could muster, knowing that the statistics were probably growing even less in his favour by the second; every second he did nothing about it and every second I did nothing about the aforementioned fact. "Look at the odds, Pete."

"I just don't want to risk it, Mikes. I want as much time as I could possibly have with you - Mikey, you matter, okay? Because just one month with you would mean more than a two in three chance of having any longer-"

"It's not just having 'any longer', it's having forever - growing old with me and all that shit, you know - that matters to me, Pete." I met his eyes, hoping that despite the fact that Pete was really very far off the traditional type, he could at least understand as to where I was coming from with this.

"And who's saying this goddamn cancer won't just come back in another decade or so?" I couldn't answer that one, because despite how much I'd like to, and in this situation just how much I seemed to need to, I couldn't promise him anything. "And then we'd have to go through this all again."

"Pete you're justifying your own death - that's just not healthy." None of this was healthy; it was just making my head spin like crazy and I felt as if I needed to throw up everywhere simply to clear my head of the mess that we'd become.

"Cancer's not healthy either - have a go at that rather than me, because at the very least I am trying." His eyes told the truth, but his actions really didn't. I reckoned upon the fact that he was lying to himself too, which could both be justified as being better and worse, and sometimes even the both at the same time.

"No, you're not." I probably shouldn’t have said that, but there was this sudden rush of adrenaline that left me with the rather toxic feeling that I could quite possibly just do anything. "If you were trying - you at least try to survive and get this fucking operation-"

"An operation on my brain, Mikes." He met my gaze, as if I didn't get the fact that some doctor was going to slice his fucking cranium open- fuck... "Do you know how many different ways that can go wrong?"

"Not enough for it to not be worth risking." I threw my words out there haphazardly, because I did not know, and Pete was right.

"No, no you don't."

"And you do?" I raised my eyebrows, wondering which answer I wanted to hear from him, and finding the conclusion to be neither, leaving me in quite possibly the most uncomfortable of predicaments, because what ever happened - I wouldn't like it.

"Yes, Mikes, yes I do, actually."

"Oh."

"I researched it." He paused, playing with a leaf that had tumbled from the leafy canopy above where it once resided and now lay on the floor, with Pete’s index finger taking an absent minded prod at it every so often. "Bleeding, risk of infection, injury to the brain, loss of coordination, lack of speech-"

"Pete, you'll be fine." I assured him, despite the fact I literally had absolutely no way to be anyway sure of that at all - it just kind of felt like the right thing to say. It felt like the Good Samaritan approach to the problem, even if I was really far from a Good Samaritan myself.

"Even if I do survive - it won't just be bam! Pete again." He shook his head in correspondence to his words. "I'll be like a little baby as all my body slowly switches back on and I'll just sleep, I'll be stuck in a hospital bed and-"

"You'll be alive, Pete." None of that mattered to me at all - all that mattered was the rhythm of Pete's heart and the little breathing sounds he made as he respired peacefully; alive and okay.

"Being alive is overrated." He shrugged it off like some sort of emo kid turned hipster in some god ugly combination that sounded like the inspiration for an entire new Blood On The Dance Floor album.

"Now you just sound fucking suicidal." I snapped out of nowhere, regretting my words as soon as they left my lips - as soon as it was all but too late.

"I have no need to be suicidal - the fucking cancer in my head is taking care of all that shit for me already, thank you very much." And those words fucking hurt, because this was Pete Wentz and I cared about him both without question and without rationality, leaving me stuck entirely in nothing short of a royal mess.

"You'll live - I promise. Look, just take this fucking chance, Pete, come on." I begged him, my eyes widening like a pathetic little puppy that was far too in love for his own good.

"You can't make me." He continued, his eyes avoiding mine, despite the fact we'd have to at least look at one another eventually.

"You're right - I can't." I met his gaze. "But I can emotionally manipulate and possibly bribe you with endless sex when you're better."

"Hmm..." Pete sighed, his eyes drifting away again before I could ensnare them sustainably, losing the one part of Pete I could hook onto before I knew it. "The thing is Mikey... it's kind of hard to explain, but I don't know, it sounds ridiculous, but it sort of feels like I'm meant to die-"

"What?" My eyes almost fell right from their sockets, as did my heart, and probably at least one of my lungs. "No, why would you even think that?"

"It's like that feeling you get when someone's following you - you can kind of just sense it. You know they're there, it's like evolution, kind of just human instinct or something of the like, I don't know, but this it's kind of like that. I just kind of know, except whenever I turn around nobody’s there, but the feeling never goes away, and then I just realise that the only thing following me is death, and the feeling, it's getting stronger each day now, because one day, death, that invisible stalker is going to catch up to me, and it'll be one day soon, Mikey. I just know."

"Do you want to talk to a therapist about this?" That was really probably just the least helpful thing I could have said, but it was the only thing that could come to my mind, as I was nothing short of severally inexperienced in the matter.

"No, Mikey - I want to talk to a fucking funeral planner." He spat his words out in a manner that made me shudder, and yet one I really probably just deserved for my prior comment.

My eyes drifted to the floor, unable to meet his as the next few words left my lips. "Do you really? Want to die?"

"There's not much of a choice, is there?" He met my words with what at first seemed to be an indirect way of telling me to fuck off, but with a second glance, it was all he could say and if I was him, I think I'd probably have to say the same.

"If you had one, would you?" I posed what I considered a better question in the hope of getting some kind of answer this time.

"No-"

"See, then take this chance - do the fucking surgery." My tone contrasted my words this time, ending up a great deal calmer.

"Mikes, I love you, okay, but as much of a sore loser as I am, I just know that it's my time now." 

"No it's not, you're young, and you have a whole life ahead of you, Pete. Just take that chance, take this life." I was begging him now; pleading with him, but he wouldn't listen... he'd only listen to the voice in his head that had given up and fuck I just didn't know what to do anymore.

"If I was meant to live then I wouldn't die. I'm not taking the surgery, Mikes, and if it isn't my time, I won't die, huh?" Fuck.

"Pete-"

"Yes?"

I inhaled far too much air at once. "You know I love you."

"I love you too."

-

"Gerard what the fuck do I do, just let him die?" My brother let his head fall back against the wall, pulling his knees up against his chest, probably because he'd given up with me too. The rest of the world had seemed to as well.

"Ultimately, whether he takes the surgery or not is his choice, seeing as it is rather obviously his brain." He was fed up - I could tell that by the tone in his voice, and the way he didn't seem to care and looked like he'd much rather be happy, with someone else, like Frank, with the toxic thoughts up in my head no longer any of his business. I didn't blame him - my head was filled with the things no one should know.

"If it was Frank-"

"Don't Mikey, don't." He met my gaze, his eyes shining in a vicious hazel light. "Pete's on enough medication as it is, it's understandable that he may not want to go within five miles of a hospital. If you really insist upon him having this surgery try talking to him about it at a later point, maybe when he isn't quite so opposed to the idea of having his cranium sliced open by someone in scrubs and gloves that smell far too much of hand sanitizer." I shuddered at the thought; he was my Pete and I didn't want to lose him, not ever, and I didn't want to even risk that and here I was, in the most risky situation of all.

"But he doesn't have all the time in the world, Gerard - you know that." I continued, making eye contact with my brother, trying to force my point across in a way I probably shouldn't, but it was the only thing I could manage to do now. "When he finally decides to stop being a stubborn asshole about it then it might just be too damn late-"

"Mikey, drop it." Gerard continued, and then the thought struck me that he was getting flashbacks because of this - my words, all of this was nothing but triggering to Gerard, because my dilemma with Pete didn't make him think of Pete at all, it made him think of Grandma Helena, and how he lost her. "I told you I wouldn't let him die okay, and that promise still stands."

"How the hell do you think you're going to accomplish that?" I threw my head into my hands. I was fucking tired of this life, all this shit and all this mess. I wanted a reset button; I wanted to give up, but things didn't work in that way at all. God didn't want perfection for his flawed creations.

"I'll bring him back up from hell if I damn well have to-"

"Gerard this isn't Supernatural." I reminded him, watching his sad eyes cautiously, and noticing the tears dwell nearly hidden from sight, and to anyone else it wouldn't be noticeable, but being his brother, I knew Gerard far too well for anyone's benefit.

"Exactly, none of us have died even once." He flashed a small smile at me, and I returned one, because he had a point.

"Not yet."

"You're fucking depressed Mikey, have you ever thought about the fact that you might want to see a therapist?" He snapped out all of a sudden, probably just a little pissed off with my depressing reaction to his attempt to keep the mood light, but I didn't think of it that way. I was difficult, so I took it personally, just like I knew was the worst thing to do.

I scoffed, labelling Gerard's advice as nothing short of hypocrisy within seconds, because I felt like somehow in my messed up head that was the right thing to do. In afterthought, it really wasn't. "You want me to see a therapist, Gerard? You." 

"It's your choice, I guess." He shrugged, his gaze avoiding mine.

"Of course I'm fucking depressed though, my boyfriend's got a fucking brain tumour and he's refusing to do anything about it!" I couldn't help but scream at Gerard, despite the fact I knew it was doing everything but helping, I was just a stubborn bitch through and through and I needed a way to express that sometimes.

"He doesn't want to lose you, Mikey." Gerard met my eyes. The brown shades almost dissolving into the emerald green that seemed to erupt from his iris like ivy growing over an old gnarly tree trunk, bringing back some life to the dull forgotten piece of underappreciated nature.

"Well if he doesn't he would try and get better-" And I was the logging guy, in this forest metaphor. I was the bastard with his chainsaw who cut down the tree, ivy and all, because I was ignorant and selfish and I didn't care.

"He's talked to me about this, Mikes." My eyes widened as I tried to suppress my almost jealousy of the fact that Pete had shared these thoughts with my brother and not me. "He's fucking scared, Mikey. He knows about everything that can happen and he's scared that either he'll die instantly in surgery or he'll make it but something'll go wrong and he won't be himself anymore... he just wants to pretend that everything’s okay, and he just wants to spend whatever he has left with you, whether it be ten days or ten years."

"I can't just do nothing knowing that one day I could wake up to see my dead boyfriend in the bed next to me." I hoped Gerard could at least understand that, because he seemed to be showing a perspective completely alien to mine in this situation which really did nothing but cause my head to spin like crazy.

"He needs to be on a life support machine, I do agree, but you shouldn't force him into anything." Gerard emphasised the word 'force' as if I was some kind of villain here, which I really liked to think i wasn't, but I couldn't exactly make an unbiased judgement upon myself.

"Well if the two of you are just so well acquainted, how about you convince him for me?"

"Mikey, calm down." He met my eyes, the ivy greens twisting back down into the depths of his pupils where they came from. "Look, just go up to him calmly, make him happy, I don't know make out with him or whatever and just talk about how you're scared and how it'll be easier for the both of you if he had medical attention, especially at this stage of the tumour."

"He's opposed to hospitals as if they're the reincarnation of Satan." I let out a sigh, kind of agreeing with him, but in a state like this I just wished he wasn't quite so stubborn that he couldn't put off his childish opinion long enough to face this matter realistically.

"I can see where he's coming from." Gerard admitted, and I got that - I got Gerard’s hatred for hospitals, being awfully well acquainted with them entirely.

"Was this what it was like for you when mum wanted you to go to rehab?" I asked, my voice kind of quiet as I knew neither of us really wanted to discuss Gerard's previous drug problem in any level of detail whatsoever.

"Kind of, yeah.” I didn't want to go, but it was for the best wasn't it?" It was, it was, and I was glad that Gerard knew that now.

"What convinced you then?"

"Mum kind of made me, but it was seeing Frank for the first time, seeing beauty within existence and the fact that the world and life is something I wanted to remain a part of was what really motivated me."

"I'm glad you met Frank." I admitted. Frank and Gerard just fit together like puzzle pieces and there was never anything in the way of a problem between them, and really I was just so fucking jealous of that, it was unreasonable.

"I'm glad Pete met you."

"But he's already met me, it's not as if I'm going to come into his life in some sort of miraculous manner and wave some sort of magic fairy wand to make everything better."

"He's in love with you." He continued, as if it was simple, which it wasn't. "Show him you mean those three little words. Show him what there is to live for, both within the world and the heart inside his chest. Show him how to live for staying up to until dawn just to fall asleep as the whole world wakes up, show him how to scream at the top of your lungs because everything just hurts, show him that he can cry, because tears are little water drops, they wash everything away, and show him, show him that you love him, and that there's nothing stronger than love, because two lovers hand in hand can stop the whole world, and you should never mess with a broken heart."

"You're telling me to fuck him."

"No, Mikey, I'm telling you to make love to him." Gerard met my eyes. "It's overlooked these days, but the two are entirely different. They're both displays of the highest level of emotions, but one is of passion and the other of endearment."

"You sound like Buddha."

"Buddha believed in rebirth and a never ending cycle of life." Gerard grinned at me, and I chuckled at the fact that ten years ago, this dorky kid that was my brother considered himself nothing short of a goddamn Satanist.

-

We're not in the middle of nowhere, not quite. We've barely scraped the edge of nothingness in Pete's dad’s Jeep and the interstate night sky. We're not even lost, or not quite as much as either of us would like to be, because the Satnav refuses to turn itself off and we'd had to throw a blanket over it to muffle the relaying of directions at random intervals.

I don't think it matters that we're not quite lost, because I don't think I can ever be lost with Pete cuddled into my side in the back of a blanket coated Jeep in the September air, which isn't quite too cold or quite too hot, which is really something for Jersey, but then I remember we aren't quite in Jersey anymore. 

It was weird to think about because I've never left Jersey before, and I never imagined my first out of state visit to leave me curled up to my boyfriend with a brain tumour in the back of his dad's jeep. And I most certainly didn't imagine the destination of my first out of state adventure to be somewhere on the interstate between Delaware and Maryland.

None of that quite seemed to matter though, because beside me lay Pete Wentz still breathing still alive, but barely. He wasn't quite asleep; he looked out of it from appearances and his utter lack of movement, but the flickering of his eyelids as he blinked against the sleep, staying up to watch the night sky with me gave it all away.

"Can I kiss you?" Pete's voice trailed from lips, barely a whisper amongst the night sky and the captivating effect the planets and constellations up there seemed to have. They were all so peaceful and I felt like I had the right to be jealous of a fucking star.

I had my reasons though; stars didn't have shit like this to worry about - not at all.

"Why would you even have to ask?" I grinned at him, watching the smile I got in return and missing the smirk element that made it all so 'Pete'. It felt like the cancer was slowly drawing the 'Pete' and the life away and out of him, and that hurt like hell - it slowly dragged my heart down like an anchor tied to the ocean floor, and this whole situation was toxic and co-dependent enough to feel as if I was more than metaphorically going down with him.

"I don't know... I never asked did I?" He continued, his words barely audible but in the silence of this nothingness we were stuck in, they were more than loud enough entirely. "I'm thinking about everything now - I'm thinking about us and all the things we never did and never will do. That's my bucket list, Mikey, it's all about you."

"Called it." I winked at him, summoning a smile to finally pass between his lips. It gave me hope; his real smile. It was kind of like a beacon of hope and light in my dark.

"You never met my parents and we never went on a date to an actual restaurant, and I never teased you quite enough about just how much you look like a lesbian with sex hair." I laughed a little, kind of glad the latter hadn't been enforced quite as much as he apparently wanted it to have been. I could go without the bullying of my 'lesbian hair'. My hair was bisexual, thank you very much. Or does that mean it doesn't exist, I don't know? I know I'm not bald at the very least - or well, I damn well hope so.

"Was that one really on your bucket list?" I met him with skepticism, but skepticism with a purpose, because I wasn't quite that irrational, at least not yet.

"Okay the last one wasn't, but-"

"Was having slow meaningful sex in the back of your dad's Jeep on there, because if not I think it's something we should tick off regardless." I didn't know quite how my words came to be but I guessed it was something to do with the way Pete was; beautiful and so fragile in that head of his, and the way everything hurt, and maybe I should just make everything okay again. Or maybe Gerard's badly executed advice had somehow wriggled its way into reality.

"Slow?" Pete raised his eyebrows at that, turning his head so our eyes met in a moment of silence before he continued. "We've never gone slow before."

"I know." I breathed the words out.

"Do you think this will be our last time?" The question fell into reality; it should have torn right through everything, but I think the whole world was just broken enough for it to only marginally damage the excessive layers of stitching.

"I don't know, Pete. What do you think, what does it feel like to you?" I didn't want to say yes and I didn't want to say no, because I didn't want it to be the former and I couldn't guarantee that it'd be the latter.

"My whole life feels kind of ominous, I feel like there's a reaper after me. I feel like this could be my last night on earth, Mikes, but it's not quite - we would have noticed if it was." He looked at me in the most reassuring manner he could muster, which considering the situation didn't quite cut it. "But this might just be our last time, so I want to make it special."

And without words, we discarded the minimal amounts of clothing we were still wearing, and I didn't even put up a fight as Pete pushed me down against the Jeep. It just felt good to have him touching me; to feel his heartbeat against mine and to remember that now, my boyfriend was still alive, and even if he was on his deathbed, he was still alive right now.

The vehicle creaked as Pete slammed his body down against it, looking at me with sad eyes that I didn't think I'd ever seen before, and somehow it was sad eyes that always seemed to mean the most.

He kissed me slowly, his lips on mine like fairy dust and fragile butterfly wings, because this moment was fragile and it seemed just like the whole of reality could shatter if we weren't quite careful enough, so we were careful. We barely made a sound apart from like breathy gasps that involuntarily escaped my mouth as I felt Pete and the kisses he sent down every inch of my body.

"Don't forget me, will you?" He pulled his lips away from my chest to look me in the eye, breaking the need for one another with a badly posed, scared question, because we were both just so scared of what would happen after tonight, after this feeling of nothingness and drowning in the comfort of the pretend, but tomorrow, we'd be back in Jersey, facing the real world and Pete's temperamental and prolonged resentment towards the operation he needed. "Promise me that."

"How could I ever forget you?" I met his eyes with sincerity.

"You'll end up falling in love with someone else some day and don't even try to deny that, because you will. I just hope you'll be happy and one day when the two of you are growing old together and you're watching Breaking Bad or something, please think of me? Remember me? Tell your children who I was?"

"Honey, I'll tell the whole world who you are and just how much you mean to me." I placed a kiss against his lips; a slow kiss, one that meant the whole world, one that sealed our promise. "I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He never broke eye contact with me as he was inside of me, with every slow pull in and out, we held hands, almost as if it was the first time and it hurt, because it did hurt this time, but in an entirely different sense.

This hurt because this would never happen again.

And we both knew that all too well.

Coming was different - it all come out slow and synchronised, the two of us in harmony and no witty remarks from Pete, only the feeling of him relaxing down beside me, and the utter disregard for clothing in the middle of nothingness somewhere near Delaware.

This all meant so much, and I hated that it did, because it meant so much, because it had to in one finally rush to feel something, something good, something worth holding on for as we faced the oblivion of tomorrow, hands held but for how long neither of us knew and that brought just the most sickening feeling to the depths of my stomach.

"If I die tonight-" He began, his words leaving his lips but never really registering upon my hearing as I pushed off everything of that manner, because I tried the well tested approach of ignoring the problem and praying that it'd go away at some point, but this problem was far more permanent, far more deadly and far more destructive - it was the kind of problem that didn't go away.

"You won't." I locked my gaze with his, brushing the hair from his face, letting my fingers run along his cheek bones as if I'd never touch them again, and I was really scared of the far too plausible possibility that I wouldn't, so I treasured him. I treasured all of him as if it was the last time, as if this were to be our final day together upon this godforsaken earth. "I won't let you."

"Something’s aren't in our control though, Mikes." He sighed out; glancing up at the stars and watching a comet shoot across the darkness in a display of nothingness and peace. Nothingness was a true beauty and one entirely underestimated, because there was nothing quite as peaceful and nothing I craved quite as much right now.

"I'd very much like them to be - I'd play God for you, honey." I smiled at him, watching the crease in his lips as he forced a smile back. I didn't like to see this; his lying and fakery, because he had to keep up this facade and the only reason he was keeping it up was for me.

"Don't do that, just promise me something though, that you'll love me-" I didn't need reminding. I would never need reminding; it hurt that Pete just didn't understand how he meant everything to me. And how he made this fucked up little world worth living in.

"I'll love you forever, until my ashes leave this earth. You always mean so much to me." I let the words leave my lips and drift in the air, watching as my breath drifted away, carrying my words with it. This felt like a lost cause now, my heart nothing more than train wrecked, and yet it couldn't quite get off the tracks.

"Don’t do that, baby." He met my gaze far too sincerely. "I want you to be happy, and this not to end your life too." He paused, almost preparing himself for the next words to leave his lips, which made me nothing but worried about just what they could possibly be. "Gerard says you're depressed, and I can see that. I made him promise to look after you when I can’t; you make sure he keeps that promise for me?"

"I promise." I paused, wondering why the fuck my brother had to go and put more stress on my dying boyfriend by telling him I was fucking depressed... Gerard... I didn't understand him sometimes. "Why are you saying all of this?"

"I can feel death's breath on my shoulder." He slowed his speech, maybe giving me more time to take it in or perhaps it hurt to get the words out - I opted for the latter, as Pete wasn't exactly the most considerate of others. "Promise me you'll love me, you'll love me till tonight do us part."

"I promise. I love you." I didn't need promising: the words were just unspoken and generally accepted or at least I thought so, and then it struck me - the thousands of times I hadn't told Pete I loved him, and now felt the need to, but tonight there wasn't enough time to spew out thousands of ‘I love you’s.

"I love you too - forever."

We lay on our sides, eyes connected for what felt like forever, yet could never quite be long enough, because the words had to leave his lips and time didn't stop for us, not really.

"Good night, Mikey."

"Good night, Pete, good night. I love you."

"I know, Mikey, I know."

-

The thing is, Pete was right - he didn't wake up but I didn't either, not in the Jeep. I woke up in a hospital, in a hospital bed, and very much alive, however I suspected that things weren't quite like that for Pete.

My whole body ached and hurt and I wasn't quite sure whether it was metaphorical pain or something sappy like that or if I'd actually just managed to subconsciously catapult myself out of a window or something like that.

"You're awake." A doctor - complete with scrubs and all, strolled into the room and eyeing me as I tried to get out of the hospital bed. "Don't. You've been injured - i wouldn't advise movement." I wouldn't advise you to continue talking if you don't want to be punched in the face.

"No, I'm fine- is he, is my boyfriend okay?" The question didn't need an answer of course. "Wait, what, injured?" I rubbed my eyes, my memory blank since Pete in the truck, and I presumed I'd simply fallen asleep, but fuck, I could have been drugged or- No, I'm being irrational.

"Your I.D. said your name was Michael Way, is that correct?" I nodded, disinterested in the words that left his lips entirely - I just needed to see Pete, to know that he was okay or have difficulty accepting that he wasn't. "You're in Union Hospital, Middletown, Delaware, are you aware of that?"

"I am now." I snapped back

"Can you tell me what happened? You were found with a man identified as Peter Wentz in a Jeep licensed to neither of you. The Jeep was knocked off the road and the both of you were knocked unconscious by the impact - a passer-by - Mr Winchester, he called us."

"The Jeep's Pete’s dad's." I said, trying to get up once more, and convince this man that I didn't steal a Jeep, because I was in no mood for legal harassment right now. I just needed to fucking see Pete. "Is Pete okay?"

"It depends what you mean by okay." Fuck. And that was the easy way of telling me he was dead, wasn't it? I knew hospital speak. But fuck, what kind of fucking person think's okay means dead- how sadistic is this guy?

"Is he fucking dead?" I snapped out, pushing back the tears rimming my eyes, because I wasn't at all in the mood for looking fucking pathetic right now. I just wanted to know what was going on and for this man to fuck off.

"No."

"So can I talk to him?" I pulled the words out, unable to correctly identify the elephant in the room for the fucking life of me.

"He's in a coma." The doctor continued, talking as if this was nothing, but considering his job description this was really nothing out of the ordinary for him. "The impact of the crash worsened things; the tumour's overtaken the majority of his brain - he's hooked up to life support and I'm sorry, Mr Way, but I'm certain in my belief that it is extremely unlikely that your friend will wake up."

"So basically, he's fucking dead." I snapped out, burying every spark of hope that had reached for the surface with his previous words.

"You hit the truck pretty hard too." He continued, now deciding to belittle me after telling me my fucking boyfriend was in a coma. As if I gave a fucking damn. "It could have killed you - be thankful it didn't."

"Can I ring my brother?" I needed to speak to Gerard, and I didn't care what this bastard thought. Thankfully, the doctor willingly handed me a landline and left the room as I dialled the number deep-set into my memory and prayed that Gerard had the common sense not to be fucking Frank at a time like this.

"Get the fuck to Delaware right now." I yelled down the line as the dial tone gave way to silence and Gerard's agitated hello, muffled by my tone of voice. This probably wasn't the best approach but with the tears streaming down my cheeks, I couldn't even imagine another way of going about this.

"Mikey what the fuck-"

"Pete's in a fucking coma get your ass to Delaware. Union Hospital, Middletown."

-

"He looks dead, Gee." I heard Gerard's footsteps follow me into Pete's room, where I stood motionless at his body, hooked up to the life support machine. He looked fucking dead; he didn't seem like Pete anymore just a body hooked up to a breathing machine. He wasn't functioning for himself; his heart was still beating an unfamiliar rhythm and the rest of him was adjusted to barely support it.

"What happened, Mikes?" My brother's voice trailed into the room as he stood beside me, looking over Pete, or what was left of him at the very least.

"We went to sleep, and only I woke up. Just like I said, Gee." I looked at him, hell residing in my eyes. Because he didn't keep his promise - he couldn't, and I didn't expect him to, so didn't know why I was so pent up about this- I just... he was pretty much dead now. And I needed someone to blame, and Gerard was here to satisfy my selfish heart.

"He's not going to wake up from a coma like that, Mikes." i nodded, getting it into my head without Gerard's particularly persistent reminders. "Talk to him while you can - say what you have to."

"What?" I widened my eyes, not quite getting what my brother was getting at here, and I just wished I could wish this all away with a click of my fingers or something of the like, but life just didn't work like that, and I ought to have figured that out by now at the very least.

"They're going to have to take him off life support soon." His eyes hit me with sincerity, and it all fit together, and unfortunately he wasn't lying. Not that Gerard would lie about something like this to me, or at least I damn well hoped he wouldn't.

"They can't." I pleaded to no one in particular, inhaling deeply and shutting my eyes in one final and unsuccessful bid to escape this reality.

"It's regulation - there's a reason I hate hospitals, Mikes." I forced my lips into a smile but it wouldn't work. Everything was just empty now, but entirely the wrong kind of empty; the empty where there was nothing to stop the poisoned daggers from getting right to your heart. The empty that hurt. "I'll leave you with him, okay?"

I nodded and watched as Gerard left the room, leaving me with Pete, air being pumped into him, and then I realised that this wasn't Pete anymore. It'd left the real Pete behind in his dad's Jeep, and Pete was right, because death took him with him.

"Pete, I love you." I whispered aloud, sitting beside the hospital bed.

"And I should have said this all in the Jeep because now you can't hear me and now you're never going to wake up. But you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and the whole world, and my heart feels empty without you. I guess you were right about the sensing death thing, and I'd just like to say I'm sorry for everything. I'll never forget you and I'll keep my promises, but I just have so many regrets - there's so much we didn't do, and maybe we would have done if you'd taken the operation but I guess maybe you were right and you would have died in that too. I'm glad you didn't take it now because with it we would never have had our last time near the interstate in Delaware. I regret nothing we did and everything we didn't. And I love forever, and you know what, tonight, when I get home, I'm going to sit on my bed, I'm going to lie on your side in the shape you pressed into my mattress and I'm going to hum."

I let out a sigh, taking all in unable, to continue due to the tears rolling down my cheeks - I was pathetic and I knew it, but I was pathetically in love, and Pete just about made up for that, or at least I reckoned so.

"Pete, I'm going to hum hallelujah just off the key of reason in hopes that in heaven, hell, wherever you damn got to- in hopes that you can hear me, and just know, if somehow you can hear me now, that I love you and that I always will."

Gerard appeared in the doorway, nodding at me, his footsteps against the laminated flooring signally me to his presence. And despite the tears, and despite Gerard, I continued, in hopes that Pete was conscious enough in there to somehow hear me.

"Till tonight do us part, Pete, because everything does have to end, despite what dreamers like to think, so good night, so long and good night."

-

I closed my eyes in Delaware and opened them in Jersey. More in a metaphorical sense that regarding the fact I hadn't felt alive for the past few days; the whole word distorting into a mere blur as my head never left the hospital room with Pete.

Gerard said I had to go to the funeral; I didn't particularly want to, but I guessed if ghost Pete was haunting some graves or something he kind of wouldn't like it if I didn't show. I made him promises after all.

The graveyard was kind of eerie in demeanour, yet somehow not quite eerie enough to support Gerard's fascination with everything ghoulish, and it took Frank to hold my brother's hand and practically drag him down the path to keep him from pointing out places were gargoyles would look good and the like.

"Hey, Mikey, are you okay?" Mum strode into step beside me, our strides synchronising as we strolled a few paces behind Frank and Gerard. I watched the two of them and how happy they were, and I envied them; the way they held hands without question, and the way they cared about one another beyond everything else. It was what I wanted and without Pete, what i couldn't have.

"They're so happy." I avoided her question, leaving the answer obvious, and pointed at my annoying brother and his midget of a boyfriend.

"They are, yes." Our pace slowed as we discreetly let Frank and Gerard get ahead, leaving our words to drift out in a greater sense of privacy, not that there was any real privacy in this world, as there could quite easily be spies hiding behind bushes and watching our every move or something. I assumed that was just paranoia getting the better of me, or well, at least I fucking hoped it was like that. "I'm worried about you though - you're not happy."

"Mmm..." I dragged my heels into gravel as I walked, enjoying the impact I was creating upon the world, but deep down it wasn't enough because I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, and I wanted to cry until my vocal chords gave out, but none of that was really ever enough now, because all I felt now was empty.

"Promise me you'll be okay - or at least try your best, Mikey?" She met me with earnest eyes, because she was my mother and she cared - the fact she had to put aside entirely, perhaps just for my sanity's sake. I couldn't tell these days.

"You're scared I'm going to go down the same route Gerard did with Bert." She didn't agree, yet in no way did she disagree. Which only lead to the former. "I won't, mum, trust me."

"The amount of times I've heard those words from Gerard's lips when he promised me he would only have one drink or quit entirely... it hurts, Mikey."

"I'm sorry- look, I'm good, okay?" I smiled at her, not that a forced smile would do much good in a situation such as this one, "promise?"

"Promise. Oh god, what is your brother-" She nodded, walking off to tell Gerard to behave, as it was now clearly even out of Frank's control, and leaving me alone. Or at least I thought I was alone; the graves around me felt alive, leaving me feeling far too closely connected to the world of the dead for my liking.

"Mikey?" I jumped in my skin to be faced by a blushing and awkward looking Patrick. He almost seemed to hide behind his glasses in a way that didn't fail to amuse me just a little more than it should have.

"Hey Patrick." I let out a sigh, the two of us walking towards the coffin in silence. I didn't like to think about it as Pete's coffin; somewhere Pete lay dead inside, because in my eyes it was just another coffin; something not to be taken notice of - not the wooden box that held all that was left of Pete.

"I miss him, you know..." Patrick glanced at me, eyes open wide and curious, which only lead to a question I could do nothing but dread. "Why didn't he take that operation?"

"He didn't want to." I sighed out, not at all wanting to think of the subject, yet here I was.

"Oh."

"I didn't make him...” I felt a tidal wave of regret go to my head, "and I-"

"Mikey, this is in no way your fault if your brain's going down that route!" I shrugged at Patrick, not entirely sure as to whether I fully agreed with him - I reckoned it was easier for the both of us if I did, so I pushed my arrogance aside.

"I know... I just." Inhale. Exhale. My heart hurts. Fuck. "I feel like I could have stopped this all, you know, but fuck, damn..."

"Not your fault." He placed a tentative hand on my shoulder, almost scared to touch me as if I might freak out or something - it hurt. "Okay?"

"Okay." I nodded, uncertain with my words but in agreement nonetheless.

"Mikey?" I recognised Gerard's voice before the hand on my shoulder, and Patrick took this as his cue to leave. Which I was much more glad of than the good in my soul would have liked me to admit. Patrick was just an awkward situation waiting to happen, especially considering just how the two of us had come into a state of vaguely neutral acquaintancy.

"Yeah?" I turned to face my brother, confused with the panicked expression I was met with.

"Bert’s here." I let out a sigh, no longer confused with the aforementioned panicked expression, yet now, I think I preferred not knowing.

"Shit..." And as I turned my head, sure enough the guy was, and he sure enough was headed in our direction, Gerard’s direction. This could possibly be the worst direction of all. No one wanted to see him, or wanted him to be here. Surely I could get him to leave? But then again this was Bert, so I doubted he'd oblige to any requests anyone sent in his direction - threatening or not.

"Gee-"

"Bert." I interrupted for my brother, reckoning in my stupidity that maybe I could drive this conversation better than he could. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He shook his head, glancing at my brother, with those lustful eyes that made just about everyone uncomfortable, yet far too uncomfortable to mention it at all. "Frankie has a surprise for you, just saying, honey."

"Don't call me honey." Gerard met him with intimidated eyes, yet ones that still put up a protest, because Gerard was stubborn, instant, and didn't quite go down that easily.

"Cool it sugar, just saying. Expect something." And with that Bert drifted off into what seemed like nothingness and what I hoped was hell.

"Who even invited him?" I wondered aloud, to have my personal and accidentally vocalised ponders answered by Gerard.

"I don't know." Gerard shrugged, his shoulders hunching against his neck. "No one, probably - Bert doesn't tend to require invites. He turns up and does whatever the fuck he likes."

"No one hopefully." I corrected him. "Because if somehow Ryan Ross is wandering around here dear god-"

"It'll be a double funeral." Gerard finished for me, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly but not quite enough, because the atmosphere was far too dreary for him to properly break into a real smile.

"Yeah." I paused watching the grey Jersey skyline and the expected forecast of rain for later today as Gerard lit a cigarette beside me. "How are things with Bert?"

"Uncomfortable." Gerard blew out his smoke into an array of fog like clouds. "I don't even know what he's talking about but it doesn't sound good."

"It doesn't." I confirmed, for god knows what reason because dear god, I probably wasn't even helping.

"I wish the guy would just fuck off and now the tables have turned and he's the fucking lovesick puppy here." It was kind of ironic, and maybe we would have laughed if this wasn't Pete's funeral- if this wasn't Pete's funeral, Pete would be the one making the mildly immature joke about the matter for us to laugh at.

"I'm the real lovesick puppy here-" I protested, but evidently, Gerard didn't quite let me continue in the matter,

"Mikes... seriously none of this is your fault- just don’t think about anything regarding it, okay?"

"How can I not think about that when I'm at his fucking funeral?" I sighed, letting myself drown in the heartache. "You promised me you wouldn't let this happen, Gee." I shouldn't use this against him but my heart- everything hurt and I was helpless now.

"I'm sorry - I wish I could, but I just can't play God - not like you need me to anyway."

"I want to die with him, Gee." The words tumbled out unexpectedly, leaving me to look up at my brother expectantly, hoping that he would understand.

"I know what you mean, Mikes, but please don't - a loaded gun won't set you free, this will burden your heart forever - we both know that, but you need to find happiness in even the most menial of things you have to-"

"Make love to myself?" I raised one eyebrow, referencing our previous conversation that held a similar topic regarding Pete.

"No, Mikes. Make yourself make love to the world... not in the literal sense of course."

"Of course." I nodded, watching as Gerard tapped his cigarette ash down to the ground and watching as the black ashes became nothingness amongst greenish grey strands of grass, because it was fucking Jersey and the grass was more grey than green, which was quite probably from cigarette ash, thinking about it - not that I was entirely that fascinated enough in the matter to care.

"I feel so empty... like I should be crying at the very least, but I can't cry, there's just nothingness - a punctured hole in my heart perhaps?"

"Perhaps." He inhaled a gasp of nicotine. "I get what you mean, it feels like you need to breathe, but every last particle of oxygen is used keeping your stomach afloat in your insides, and even then, you don't die... you're just empty. You feel dead, almost."

"Never tell me you're not good with feelings ever again, Gerard." I met his eyes with sincerity, "like seriously you'd make a good therapist with words like that."

"Then I suppose I'd have to stop talking or start despising myself."

I smiled a little. "When the Jeep chucked over, do you think I should have go into a coma too?"

"No, Mikes, and I'm glad you didn't, honestly." I wasn't quite so sure I agreed with him.

"But-" It was however evident there was no use protesting, especially when it came to Gerard, who was stupidly renowned for not letting things like this go.

"Pete was already dying - I couldn't lose you too, and," he turned to me. "I'm not going to, understood?" I nodded, albeit just a little reluctantly. "Good."

"Do you think I'll ever find someone quite like Pete?" I threw the question out there, because although the answer was obvious and rather disappointing as it lingered at the back of my head, I wanted Gerard to lie to me for once, for my asshole of a brother to reassure me in my false belief that somehow everything was going to be okay.

"No, Mikes, maybe you'll find someone better though." I very much doubted there was anyone in the world for me other than Pete.

"I don't know, Gee."

"Me neither, and that's just the future - no one knows what will happen and I think that's the best part." I disagreed and very much for the same reasons.

"Sure-"

"Oh god, Frank's waving at me like a maniac if this is what Bert was talking about, I'm screwed." I shot him an apologetic look before my face twisted up into a particularly ugly smirk.

"I'm sure you'll be screwed tonight regardless."

Gerard just looked at me. "I'll never be able to forget Pete simply by the fucking impact he's made on you, Jesus Christ."

I shrugged, watching as my brother walked over to his boyfriend, admiring just how happy they were instead of being bitterly jealous this time, which without a doubt was certainly a great deal healthier.

I promptly decided to turn away as soon as they started eating each other's faces though - I just wasn't quite that creepy.

"Hey." I almost jumped out of my skin as Ray sat down beside me, he noticed as his face was laden with nothing short of an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"It's alright - needed something to take my mind off the fact that Frank is devouring my brother's face over there."

Ray chuckled, his face giving way to a small smile, "you okay? I assume you've been asked that far too much but-"

"Honestly, no." I smiled back at him, almost sadistically but not quite.

"At least you're not lying." At least, yes. This guy really did just have to look for the positives, didn't he?

"At the very least, yeah." I sighed out. "Everything's just gone so fast recently, I was finding out about his tumour and then he was refusing to have the operation, and then we fought and then we fucked, and we drove to fucking Delaware and fucked again, and then... then I think that's when Pete really died in my mind..."

"Time always bends the way you don't want it to."

"And when the Jeep flipped over - it should have been my side that collided with the concrete- do you think if it wasn't that Pete would have been alive today? Do you think maybe Pete would have outlived the cancer even?" I probably shouldn't have been bombarding Ray with thousands of paranoid questions that surfaced my grey matter sporadically as my brain darted around in a mess of panic.

"There's no way of knowing, Mikey." He handed me the rational answer and I took it as it was.

"I guess, but, I can't help but feel so helpless, like I should have done something..."

"You did all you could, and that was more than you should have, Mikes-"

"Mikey!" Ray's words were interrupted by Gerard's giggles as he dragged a rather smug looking Frank after him by the hand. Oh god, what had fucking happened now.

"What?" I rolled my eyes, looking at my clearly just a little insane brother through narrowed eyes. I was kind of pissed off.

"I'm getting married, Mikeeyy!" My jaw dropped like a reflex - he wasn't serious...

"What?" I looked first at Ray, then Frank, and finally Gerard.

"Look!" Gerard grinned and showed me his hand - fuck. He was getting married. He was fucking engaged and dear god I've never seen Frank Iero look quite so smug before in his life.

"You look after him, asshole." I glared at Frank who simply smirked at me in return. I wanted to slap him - just to sort that fucking smirk out dear lord.

"Will do." He mock saluted, pissing me off just enough for me to want to slap him, but not quite enough for me to actually go through with it.

"I'm going to have a wedding." Gerard's eyes widened cinematically and really I'd never seen my brother look both quite so happy and quite so feminine at the same time. "Frankie, I'm going to have a wedding!"

"I know, Gee, I know." Frank grinned, embracing his fiancé, and quite possibly wondering as to what the fuck he'd just agreed to marry. The two of them just fit together though, and I was happy for them, despite the nagging thought at the back of my mind, reminding me how this would never be Pete and I.

"Everyone's fucking invited!" Gerard screamed like a fucking diva - which he was one. "Oh my god I need to tell mum!"

"That's a reaction I’d love to see, especially in the state he's in right now." Ray commented upon Gerard with raised eyebrows. "Frank, did you drug him or something? You know he would have said yes regardless."

"I'm going to be all pretty in my fucking dress - all in white Frankie!" Gerard burst in before Frank could respond which was probably for the best in a situation like this.

"That won't be the only thing white coming of that night-" Oh dear god. I cringed like hell.

"We're going to have a cake?"

"With lots of icing... icing I'll let you suck off my fingers, baby." Yeah, this was really a conversation I'd rather not hear.

"That kind of icing?"

"Which ever kind you want." Frank winked at Gerard.

"Guys-" My protests went unnoticed as they continued fucking dirty talking one another in front of me.

"Rainbow." My brother answered like a little kid, which he was, along with a diva.

"They really are a bunch of idiots, oh my god." Ray sighed into my side, clearly having given up hope regarding both of them just as much as I had. Which was reassuring by the measure that at least I wasn't going completely insane here.

"Mikey you can be the entertainment at our wedding!" Gerard exclaimed, clutching his newfound fiancé by the wrist. "You could sing!" Gerard seemed to be forgetting that he was the one of us who could actually sing.

"Nah, I think maybe I'll hum, hum hallelujah, just off the key of reason."

I didn't hum alone though, because a rumble in the air signified that someone somewhere was humming too.

Someone with a killer smile and a Breaking Bad box set, I'd bet.

And you know, they say hearing is the last sense to go when you die.

-

It's all a game of this or that, now versus then  
better off against worse for wear  
And you're someone who knows someone who knows someone I once knew  
And I just want to be a part of this

The road outside my house is paved with good intentions  
Hired a construction crew, 'cause it's hell on the engine   
You are the dreamer and we are the dream.  
I could write it better than you ever felt it.

So hum hallelujah,  
Just off the key of reason  
I thought I loved you  
It was just how you looked in the light.  
A teenage vow in a parking lot  
"Till tonight do us part"  
I sing the blues and swallow them too

My words are my faith to hell with our good name.  
A remix of your guts-your insides X-rayed  
And one day we'll get nostalgic for disaster  
we're a bull, your ears are just a china shop

I love you in the same way, there's a chapel in a hospital  
One foot in your bedroom and one foot out the door  
Sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills.  
I could write it better than you ever felt it. 

So hum hallelujah,  
Just off the key of reason  
I thought I loved you  
It was just how you looked in the light.  
A teenage vow in a parking lot  
"Till tonight do us part"  
I sing the blues and swallow them too

A teenage vow in a parking lot  
"Till tonight do us part"  
I sing the blues and swallow them too

So hum hallelujah,  
Just off the key of reason  
I thought I loved you  
It was just how you looked in the light.  
A teenage vow in a parking lot (Hum hallelujah)  
"Till tonight do us part"  
Love in a parking lot (Hum hallelujah)  
"Till tonight do us part"  
A teenage vow in a parking lot  
"Till tonight do us part"  
I sing the blues and swallow them too

 

-

 

"You look lonely and depressed." Gerard noted, strolling into the room.

"I am lonely and depressed."

"It's been nine months, Mikes; you should at least try-"

"Try and move on how?"

"Put yourself out there..."

"I'm Mikey Way with the nerdy glasses and heart that won't let go-"

"But at least you’re not a virgin, and you're twenty one now, so at least you can legally drink - look at the positives, little bro. Get out and see the world, meet someone, huh?"

"And how do you suggest someone like me goes about that?"

"I have just the plan." He smirked at me.

"Yeah?" I raised my eyebrows in response.

"Yeah. Go and get me the Fangoria comic I ordered in from the comic shop."

"Not a chance, in hell, Gerard, not a fucking chance."

Yet despite my words I did, and maybe, maybe I didn't regret it half as much as I should have, because I downright bet that the events would mirror themselves in succession with my luck, but I still went for it anyway, because I think that's what love is - jumping off a cliff for someone, and just trusting that they'll catch you.

And sometimes, sometimes, you'll find the right person, and that person will catch you, flaws and all. You've just got to hold on tight to that person, because sometimes holding you will get heavy and they'll need to let go, and that was my mistake.

They say we never make the same mistake again, though, so at the very least, that can give me hope. And it’s hope that’ll be all I need, because it’s hope that keeps us going; hope that keeps us strong, hope that keeps us fighting and always hope that keeps us alive for one more day.

This time I would like to think I’d get it right though. But we're all just soldiers fighting with little cause, love our battleground, and our hearts stabbed with swords.

And of course with a far too familiar tune – a hum that will never leave our lips.

 

-


End file.
